Dead or Never Alive
by Pernicia
Summary: After their break-up, Ginny wishes Harry had never been born. Then at least she'd forget the pain. And so she does. Forget, that is. The pain's still there. That's the problem with wishes: they come true.
1. If Wishes Were Horses

**Disclaimer:** All characters and etc. belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Notes:** This is set just after Half-Blood Prince but before Deathly Hallows. Enjoy!

The gnome went soaring off into the distance, farther than she had ever thrown it before. Ginny closed her eyes, listening to the satisfying crack that followed. Maybe the impact had killed it. Probably not. Regardless, it was unlikely the pest would return.

Opening her eyes, she turned to find the next gnome only to see that they were all retreating into the hedge, not even bothering to utter one of the vulgar words the twins had taught them. Ginny filled in the silence for them.

Why, she wondered, why?

All summer, she had been asking herself that question. Oh, she knew why. He was so noble, so pure-hearted, that he couldn't risk going out with her, not even secretly. He couldn't even bother writing to her. It might attract You-Know-Who. And, as the daughter of one of the most blood traitor families of all time as well as sister to the best friend of- she couldn't even think the name- You-Know-Who certainly wouldn't be targeting her if he left her alone, right?

Stupid, she thought, pounding her fist into the fence post, not even feeling the pain. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Why did she care? He was just another guy, another boyfriend come and gone. She had had so many. Why did this one matter?

Because, she thought bitterly, he was the only one who truly cared back.

Try as she might, Ginny couldn't imagine that he didn't like her- more than like her even. No, he had broken up because he cared for her. That was why it hurt so much. Because even though they both longed for each other, Harry was only doing this to protect her.

Ginny swore again, kicking the dirt. She had said the name, damn it! And with the name came so many emotions she'd much rather avoid, most pointedly the soft feel of his lips on her own that first time, and the warmth of his arms, the warmth of his heart… no, stupid, no!

She didn't want to remember. She wanted to hate him, to be able to curse his name. But, no matter how hard she tried, she knew that she would never be able to.

Ginny felt so lonely, marooned on an island of silent grief. In front of others, she hid behind the mask of her smile. She wasn't sure if she was fooling them or not. Her mum, maybe. Ron, probably not. He knew her- and Harry- too well to believe that she'd give up so easily. But, he hadn't had much time to confront her about it. They were all so busy preparing for the wedding and planning for the Order of the Phoenix. Not that she was a part of that either.

She, and only she, was always left out. She was the youngest, she was the only girl, rendering her helpless in her family's and friends' eyes. Mum had only sent her out here to keep her from eavesdropping on Bill and Lupin, who were obviously planning some ingenious way to kill You-Know-Who, which, by the way, wouldn't work. Ginny wasn't sure how she knew, but she did. Only Harry could defeat You-Know-Who. There was something he knew that the rest of them didn't, some weapon he had that would enable him to victory. And he would win, right?

He'd better, Ginny thought angrily, or I'll kill him for dying before we even had a chance to be together.

Harry simply had to win, or none of it would be worth it. Besides You… Ginny took a deep breath. Voldemort. Harry had taught her how to say the name, hadn't he? It was only a name, not a curse. Saying the Dark Lord's name wouldn't summon him to her side, or she'd be dead by now. It was simply a fear factor.

And there was all too much fear. Many people suspected things weren't quite right- even Muggles. So long as Voldemort roamed free, there'd always be fear.

There's nothing to fear but fear itself, Ginny thought. Harry believed it. So could she.

And if she thought his name one more time, Ginny swore she would go insane! He was making her a parrot in his beliefs. Maybe she did believe them. Maybe it was for him she did. But that didn't mean she had to internally proclaim every second of the day!

The gnomes were dealt with, but Ginny was anything but ready to go inside. Mum was always warning her how dangerous it was to stray far, but it wasn't as if Voldemort would be just outside the boundaries or anything. He had better ways to waste time than murder teenage girls tired of being cooped up like animals.

Watch him find me, Ginny thought, recalling her luck the past few months. After she had drunk Felix Felicis potion, her luck had all gone downhill. Well, she continued, at least Harry would have the satisfaction of being proved right.

At first, Ginny strolled upon the familiar terrace, kicking dust up from the road or a small stone occasionally. The dust lingered long after she had passed by; it also succeeded in raising water in her eyes. As if she hadn't done enough crying already. Typically, she stubbed her toe on the stone, though she didn't feel the sharp throb through the bruised shield of pain that surrounded her heart.

She wandered into a nearby forest absent-mindedly. It wasn't until she looked up from the path that she realized she had penetrated it so deeply. She had a strong urge to curse for what seemed the millionth time that day but refrained herself. No, she wasn't lost- she had a pretty good sense of direction. It was simply, Ginny realized as she looked up at the setting sun, late. Undoubtedly Mum would be worried about her. Ginny would probably be grounded the minute Mum caught sight of her. Great incentive to return home.

Sighing, she turned away. Her eyes floated to the ground once more. Staring, she studied her shadow. Long. Fearless. Black. Dark with a wounded soul.

The wind howled around her. Ginny tore her eyes away to glance once more at the sky. Grey clouds were closing in. Had been, she noted, for a while. She hadn't noticed the change in temperature as the breeze turned cool, hadn't felt the silver raindrops hitting her bare arms.

It wasn't supposed to storm during summer. But, then again, maybe that was her life. One big storm. The clouds had been gathering for a long time, and she had sensed their presence, but never dared to face them. And now it was breaking.

Or maybe she was just paranoid.

Ginny started to take a step but paused. Not knowing why, she slowly turned her head around, looking behind her. It was foolish; of course there was no one but her. Yes, maybe she was getting paranoid in her old age…

"Looking for someone?" a voice rang out.

Startled, Ginny whirled around, hand on her wand. Standing in front of her was a woman, maybe in her mid-twenties. Her skin, pale, shimmered slightly, though it was probably just the rain. Raven hair hung down from her shoulders, and she wasn't smiling. All in all, she was rather plain, plain and defenseless. Still, Ginny didn't loosen her grip on her wand.

"What's it to you?" Ginny replied brusquely.

The woman nodded her head to her side. "Not much, like to say. Suppose I shouldn't say that, should I?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows. Uneasily, she said, "I'm not sure I understand you…"

The woman shrugged. "Enough talk. Come, follow."

She gestured deeper into the woods.

"I really don't think…" Ginny began.

"Didn't say thinking was required," the woman interrupted loudly. "Now, hurry! Before the storm breaks!"

She started away once more. Ginny watched her scurry away. All logic- in the voice of Mum, of course- told her to run away. Still, she hesitated.

The woman, seemingly sensing her reluctance, turned to face her once more. "Please! Must come! Secrets to be told, prophecies to be fulfilled, wrongs to be righted, amends to be made!"

Ginny was skeptical. "I don't know you."

"Nor need you."

"Mum always told me not to talk to strangers," Ginny said pointedly.

"Mum's not always right. Worries too much. Can't see past the present. But there's more, so much more…"

Here, Ginny was thoroughly confused. She was certain the woman was a witch. She was also certain the witch wasn't quite in her right mind.

A crash of lightning rang through the forest, followed by a bellow of thunder. The sky erupted, pouring the sheets of tears it had withheld for so long.

"No," the woman murmured. "Not time yet." Looking back at Ginny, she pointed to a small enclave about fifty meters yonder. "Hide from the storm?" she suggested.

Ginny shrugged. She certainly didn't trust the woman, but she could handle her company while she waited for the storm to pass. It was better than marching home through this mess. Besides, she wasn't all too eager to be grounded for life. Without a word, Ginny followed the woman, who smiled like a child. Gesturing once more, she scampered ahead, Ginny at foot. Ginny didn't rush to the shelter; she was already as wet as she was going to be anyway.

As she stepped into the crevice, she found that it went much deeper than it appeared. Perhaps it was magic, or maybe it was simply formed that way. The woman hurried to the middle of the cave, where a boulder served as an uneven table that held some sort of tea kettle. Clearly, the woman had been living in here.

"Better?" the woman asked, sitting cross-legged in front of the table. Ginny nodded, feeling it was the right response. "Should be. Not being watched anymore."

"Watched?" Ginny questioned, sitting opposite the woman at the makeshift table. "What do you mean, watched?" With a small gasp, she asked worriedly, "Do you mean by…"

"Hush!" the woman shouted, waving her hands wildly in the air. "Cannot speak his name! Cannot speak his name, or he will come, and all will end!"

It was clear the woman knew who Ginny meant. "It's just a name," Ginny mumbled with a shrug.

"More than a name," the woman disagreed. "A curse. A harbinger."

"The name's not cursed," Ginny argued. "Just because he did some awful things doesn't mean the world will end if someone utters his name. He's just a man."

The woman shook her head. "Unworthy of man title."

"I hope you're not implying that You-Know-Who is a woman," Ginny replied with a hint of sarcasm.

"No joke. Ripped soul, no humanity… not a man."

Ginny shrugged. "At least he can die."

The woman sighed, looking down at the table at Ginny's untouched tea. "Drink."

With a slight eye-roll, Ginny reached for the cup and sipped. It wasn't bad, though it had an odd taste. At least it was warm.

"He cannot die but from one," the woman prattled, shaking slightly. Ginny wasn't sure if it was from the sharp wind or from fear.

"Harry," Ginny nodded. She set down her teacup. Harry…

Without warning, she knocked the cup to the ground with an angry swipe of her hand. The woman stared at her with alarmed eyes.

"I don't want to talk about him," Ginny mumbled. "Sorry."

The woman shook her head. "Must."

"Must?" Ginny questioned. "Why must I talk about him? There's nothing to tell anyway."

Again, the woman shook her head. "Everything." She stared directly into Ginny's eyes. Ginny felt the urge to look away but found the woman's eyes alluring.

"Boy who lived. Always admired him, even before he saved your life. Wanted to tell him, but didn't. Always pretended you didn't care."

"Stop," Ginny ordered, but the command came out as a weak whisper. For some reason, words were lost to her.

"Then, he saw the light. Shared the light. Didn't last long. Soon, darkness returned. He was gone. Will always be gone…"

"Stop it!" Ginny cried, tearing her eyes away. "I said I didn't want to talk about him! And how do you know?" She dared sneak a glance back at the woman, who was smiling weakly.

"Saw it," she answered. "He is gone, but he stays in your heart, tearing it apart."

"He didn't mean to hurt me," Ginny argued, wiping her eyes. Why did she sound so sullen? "He was only trying… only trying to protect me."

"Ah, but he didn't," the woman continued. "He clouded your life. Thinks his destiny too vital to be hindered by a girl."

"But… but, it is, isn't it?"

"Not if he fails," the woman said. "Not if it's all for nothing."

Ginny's thoughts exactly. Still, her heart pound in fury, and her instant reaction was to be angry- or was her mind telling her that the woman was right?

"It's not for nothing," Ginny stammered. "He'll win, and then he'll come back."

Slowly, the woman shook her head. "Neither can live while the other survives."

The words rebounded through Ginny's mind, seeming vaguely familiar, eerily true. Why had she heard that before?

"He left you for nothing," the woman said. "Tore your soul to try and mend another's. But now, the souls both lay on his hands."

"What are you talking about?" Ginny asked. At the same time, her mind churned, her thoughts unable to stray from Harry. And, like so often, the thoughts were of fury.

He had left her. Left her to go on a quest that was bound to fail. Wasn't that what the woman was saying?

The woman managed a smile. "You understand," she said softly.

"No," Ginny murmured. No, she didn't understand. Didn't know why a rage that had lasted a summer was gathering its full strength, ready to burst through her.

"You will," the woman replied slowly. "You will." She reached forward to grasp Ginny's hands. Ginny didn't resist. She didn't even feel the woman's skin on hers.

"Harry Potter has left this woman," she declared. "Left her to rot in the age of darkness that is to come because of him!" The woman let her gaze loose on Ginny once more. "Feel the rage. Feel it burn inside. Succumb to the urge of vengeance!"

It was impossible to look away. The woman's gaze enthralled Ginny, captured her, until it was all that matter; indeed, it was all that existed.

"Now, what have you to say?" the woman's voice hissed from somewhere beyond. "What is your wish?"

"Harry… he didn't…"

"Your wish!" the voice boomed.

The damn, strained to the top of its limits, finally burst in a splendid explosion. The feelings Ginny had concealed came soaring out, singing in freedom.

"I wish he was gone forever!" she heard her voice cry. "I wish he never existed at all!"

The already howling wind picked up, raging in spirals around the two women, roaring at a deafening amplitude. And, somewhere among this roar, Ginny heard a voice boom, "Done."

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**The story, however, continues! Please, review!**


	2. The End of the World

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and the copyrights, I only serve to entertain.

**Notes:** Thank you to all who reviewed. I appreciate your feedback; it motivates me to continue! I know this is short, but a longer one is on its way.

The world seemed to spin before Ginny's eyes, all colors, all sounds blending together in one muddled haze. A dizziness blossomed in her chest. Her mind had trouble staying focused, with all of the motion around her. For a moment, she forgot where she was, who she was…

Suddenly, there was a jolt, and all of the colors blended together, all of the sounds combined into one as the darkness consumed and a voice from all angles roared, "Done!"

Ginny blinked, suddenly disoriented. There seemed to be too much to take in, too many objects, too many colors. She felt overwhelmed, nauseas with the motion. Except, the room wasn't spinning…

Memories burst through her skull, flashes of her life…

_Sounds of explosions were all around, as well as flames as the Burrow toppled down, ashes flying, and screams everywhere. Someone- her mother- held Ginny, as Ginny sobbed. Her mum was barking instructions to everyone, instructions to leave, to run, to get away from here. In the fading light, Ginny could scarcely discern the tears on Mum's cheeks…_

_Pitiful crosses made of broken branches laid on the ground, showered with wilting petals, scavenged in the woods. There were no bodies. Even the ashes would be gone, indiscernible in the vast pile that was now their home. On the ground, three names were sketched, each with dates: Arthur Weasley, Charlie Weasley, George Weasley…_

_The caves, dark and dreary, as they made their way to the Eastern shores of Great Britain, the ember of hope flaming in their hearts that they might make it to France…_

_The embers dying, with only scorches and ashes in their hearts as they arrived, only to find that all boats able to leave already had, and that the rest were quarantined. Ginny looked to the horizon, knowing even when she was but two, that the horizon would never be more than a scarlet flame in the distance…_

No, this wasn't her life! Her father was alive, as were all of her brothers. She wasn't on the run for her life, nor even in much danger. It was all wrong, all a misconception in this strange nightmare.

Still, the memories continued, getting progressively faster, flashes of the previous life of a stranger who looked like her:

_Her mum's eyes as she returned from work each day, wearied with loss and pain. She had lost all will of life, and was now living it for her children, so that they might not starve…_

_A scream, her scream, piercing the air as she wandered in on Mum's body, staring at the ceiling, lifeless and glossy. Her wand was grasped limply in her hand, the wand she had killed herself with. There was no note to speak of, nor any warning. All Ginny could do was scream…_

_The factory she worked in, though she was but six years old. Around her, machines churned, and the incessant coughing filled the room with a fog of disease and dreariness. It hadn't been like this before, Bill had told her, but since the Rise- or, Fall, as he called it- Britain had devolved. Wizards, even Muggles, lived in fear, though some didn't quite know why. Fear was a plague, spreading it's tentacles far and wide until every soul had been drenched in it, soaked it in, until there was nothing left but the fear…_

_The newspaper readings, telling of murder and injustice in the guise of order, as they sat around their smaller than small slum. Nowhere was safe. All wizards and witches were required to attend Hogwarts, but the only pureblood ones counted as wizards. She was twelve and evidently pureblood, but there had been no letter either year. They took that as a blessing but heightened security anyway. They all knew what happened to the half-bloods, condemned to hard labor, and even worse, the Muggle-borns._

And still the memories came, memories of a wearied family trying to live their lives, though there was nothing left for them. It wasn't her family, Ginny told herself. It wasn't her world.

_Her fifteenth birthday came and went with naught but shouting. Bill and Percy were arguing again, as they argued about everything. Percy had done something, gone to a wizard bar, talked with some normal wizards. He felt that they had lived in secret too long. He wasn't going to live his life sheltered forever. Bill countered that there was nowhere else to go._

"_Away from here," Percy replied. Her heart stopped beating as he opened the door, and without a care, stepped out of the family and into the cruel world. Bill collapsed on the table, murmuring how he had failed. But he hadn't: it was Percy who had failed._

_The same room, a month later, as her world erupted, the masked figures bursting through the door, barking orders to surrender. Conjuring all his strength, Bill fought, knowing that this was his end, up until the green jet collided with his body. As it fell, Ginny noted that it was just another body, as she had seen so many others. Just another body. Just another person finding peace in death they could never find in life. She almost envied them all._

_She tried to honor the dying wish of her father, her mother, Bill. Tried to break for it through the back window with Ron, frozen by the violence. Was stopped by the masked men before she could even move._

_They were trapped, never to escape. They could never escape. Only one way, and that way was coming._

_Ginny turned to face the men, to find…_

_Just another body. Percy. Her brother. Her brother had betrayed them, betrayed them all. She didn't hear what he said, only saw his eyes. He had meant it for the better, but he was stupid._

_Slowly, the Death Eaters caroled them out, hands chained behind their backs. They were to live, they said. That had been the deal. But Ginny knew better. You couldn't trust the Death Eaters, for Death was all they knew._

_If she was to die, she would die free. Crying loudly, she broke free from the line, dashing for the trees, not even ducking the curses aimed at her. Inevitably, one impacted with her head, and all exploded in a blast of light. She could hear the screams, and see the flames, smell the smoke, taste the ashes…_

_Fred was gone, out on some errand. When he returned, he would find only ashes. More ashes to match those in his heart. _

_It was the end of the world. The end._

"Done," the voice whispered. "Done."

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	3. Infinitely More Painful than Death

**Disclaimer: **JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, do I need to say more?

**Notes: **Thank you to my faithful reviewers, I cherish them (hint, hint.) Read on for your prize:

She bolted up, her eyes snapping open, a scream escaping her lips. She saw nothing around her, only the visions, those phantasms, memories- memories that weren't hers.

The truth flashed in her mind for one moment before being pushed back by an excruciating pain and not of the physical kind. In that moment, she simply let the scream consume her. Forgetting all that she was, she relived the flames of her past.

In one desperate movement, she ripped the needles from her arms, the needles that were keeping her alive. Frantically, she whirled her head around, seeing but not taking in anything. She drew her head down in a quick sob, hardly noticing the blood that scaled her arms. As it touched her cheeks, Ginny screamed once more, and the first attendant came toppling.

"Ward!" he screamed, rushing to her, his glasses crocked on his face. "Ward, she's awake! She's awake!"

He grasped her bleeding arms, attempting to calm her. She whirled around, staring straight into his eyes.

They were emerald, a shade of emerald that reminded her of something she had only seen once before.

"Harry," she whispered to the man, as the doctor hurried in and jammed a sedative in her arm.

***

When she awoke once more, she forgot who she was, where she was- everything. Slowly, Ginny turned her head on her pillow, taking in the room. It was small but held many pieces of equipment, including a machine which the wires attached to her ran through. There was a bedside table as well, but it was empty of everything. Funny, if it had had flowers and a lamp, it would have been a picture of St. Mungo's.

Cautiously, she lifted her head. Sounds of activity erupted from the halls, barked orders, equipment churning, but mostly wails of various patients. Ginny blinked, unsure what to think. She had never been to St. Mungo's before, so there was no reason she should think that it would be.

She became aware of a sore pain, growing more intense each moment she lay in that bed. For the first time, Ginny tried to remember what had happened, how she had come to be here.

Closing her eyes, a flash of red light entered her mind, as well as the heated colors of flames and the dark cloaks of the Death Eaters. Slow recollections gathered in her mind, but she had this strange feeling that something was wrong, as if something was blocked off from her memory. Somehow, something was missing, and the emptiness it left sat inside her hollowly.

"I know you are awake."

Shifting her position painfully, Ginny saw the brown-eyed man. His hair, left to hang, was a greasy black, and his voice was dry and emotionless. As with all of his likeness, he wore a dark cloak and all black clothes that reflected the nature of his spirit.

"Where… where am I?" she stammered, not having the strength to sit up. "Who are you? What am I doing…?" Ginny tried in vain to lift her head, not wanting to appear weak and helpless in front of this man.

"What do you remember?" the man asked coldly, seemingly non-interested in answering her questions.

Closing her eyes, Ginny tried once more to remember that night when…

"Done." The voice, mystical and hissed, rang through her mind. Then, it faded to black, leaving only the semblance of a memory, a memory that had never occurred.

"They came," Ginny whispered, opening her eyes. "They came, and they destroyed everything in sight. There's nothing left now; nothing but ashes in hearts."

"I did not ask for a poetic masterpiece," he snapped at her, somehow remaining to keep his voice the same tone. "I asked what you remembered."

"I…" Ginny began, the words not coming. "I don't…" Nausea passed through her as she tried in vain to remember that night. Only brief flashes came, but they were empty flashes, as if she had heard about the incident, not witnessed it herself.

"You don't know?" Now, his tone was accusing. "Of course, I had forgotten: in your silly stunt, one of our stunning spells collided with your head. And for what?"

Ginny felt the question was rhetorical. Sighing, the man continued.

"So, of course, they've sent me here to attempt to integrate you back into society. A rather dull and hopeless task for someone of the status. But, what the Dark Lord says goes."

Yes, that was the way it was now. It seemed too horrific, too harsh to be true, and yet, it was.

Feeling miserable, and not only physically, Ginny twisted her neck painfully to her arm, only to see ink black numbers imprinted there. She let out a strained cry.

"What have you done?" she questioned.

"Basic protocol," the man replied. "Every wizard has one; even his obedient servants." The man lifted his sleeve for a brief moment so that Ginny could see the numbers tattooed on his arm as well. Below it was a snake-like tattoo, the Dark Mark, displayed proudly in loyalty to his master.

"But none of that matters really," the man said. "The important part is that you understand the rules."

"Rules?" Ginny questioned.

The man sighed. "Every society has its rules. Perhaps you had the misconception that you would be allowed to roam freely and chaotically like before."

"We never…"

"No interruptions!" he shouted. "The only reason you were spared was because of the deal your brother made for you. You were are still underage and were only two when the Dark Lord ascended to power. Clearly, you had no say in the choice your family made to become fugitives in society." His tone was bitterly sarcastic.

"Deal?" Ginny asked coldly. "Why would you honor such a deal?" Yes, Percy had betrayed them, betrayed them all. She wished she hadn't remembered that. Then again, maybe she did, so that she could curse his name as he deserved. She wondered what his payment was.

Integration, she decided. Integration into society, a society we had no wish to be part of. Then, Ginny corrected herself. I. The others are dead, but I'm still alive to suffer for Percy's choice. Lucky them, they get paradise, while I'm stuck in hell.

"As much as you may think it, the Dark Lord is not one who breaks his word. Not unless he has to." The man gazed at her. She shifted uncomfortably. "Know this: no deal will save you beyond now. Step one foot out of line, and you will be punished… severely."

"I can't even lift my foot," Ginny said dryly, "much less stand."

The man continued to glare. "Smart remarks will gain you nothing. Notice, I hold a wand; you do not."

"Why not kill me?" Ginny laughed, almost giddy at the thought. "You killed the others, why not me? Make it easier for you and say I died of shock when I woke up. Or that your stench was too much for me."

Immediately, the man was on top of her, pinning her down. His dog-breath and greasy hair dripping down on her cheeks were almost as unbearable as the pain.

"Never… disrespect… me… again," he hissed, "or you will find yourself in a position infinitely more painful than death."

She had several smart remarks at the tip of her tongue. Still, Ginny froze. Something about the words was vaguely familiar.

"Snape," she whispered subconsciously. "Severus Snape. He's coming for you. He's coming…"

The man- Snape, as she had named him- snapped back, dropping his expressionless mask for one brief moment. Regaining his composure, he asked icily, "How did you know?"

"Know what?"

"My name."

"I… that's your name?"

Snape looked down upon her, studying her intently. Finally, he spoke, "While you were in your coma, the doctors said that you'd suffer from seizures, migraines, and memory loss. Perhaps this is another effect."

"Or maybe it's the visitor badge you're wearing," Ginny replied dryly.

Snapping his head down, Snape ran his hand over the badge. "Very funny," he replied, looking up. "I can tell you are going to be a difficult patient, as I warned my master. Be warned: courage will do nothing for you. Perhaps in your world it is prized. But here, it is a deathtrap. The meek will survive; those who try and defy authority will not be viewed as heroes but as villains of the worst kind. Terrorists." Pausing, he added, "And they will be viewed as dead."

Ginny didn't look away. The words touched her in that unreachable place again. _Perhaps, in your world…_

But, this was her world, a cruel and unforgiving, hostile and authoritarian one. It was the only one she had ever known, the one she had grown up in.

Then why does it seem so wrong? she wondered.

Not noticing- or perhaps ignoring- her silence, Snape continued, "You will be given a week to recover before you are shipped off to Hogwarts. If you need more time than that, then you will simply have to suffer. I won't be sorry." His lip twisted into a slight sneer. "Lucky you; you finally get to learn your true talent rather than that joke of a Muggle life you were living. Have you ever even seen magic?" Not bothering to wait for her to respond, he continued, "Perhaps you will learn obedience. If not, well, you know where to find me."

His sneer widened, and Ginny knew the only time she'd ever look for him was when she killed him. But right now, even lifting her arm was a battle beyond her. Besides, he was right: how could she hope to compete with him when she didn't even own a wand?

But a voice inside of her told her that someday, whether it be near or far, she would show him what she knew. Someday.

As he turned to leave, she called out, "How long?"

Snape stopped. "How long what?" Then, predicting her question, he answered, "You have been in a coma for a year."

A year. A year she had been drifting beyond reality. No wonder she felt so out of place. Part of her longed to be in that coma once more; at least there she wouldn't have to face whatever was ahead of her.

Lying, Ginny replied, "Oh. But I meant to ask, how long have you been in the Dark Lord's disfavor?"

Snape snarled at her venomously before turning and stomping out furiously. Ginny watched him go along with all of her unanswered questions.

He'd probably lie anyway, she reflected. He was probably lying now. Not that they had talked about much. She got the feeling that he disliked her. Well, hated her actually.

_He's coming for you. _Her own words startled her, and she found herself wondering what she had meant by them. It was probably just nonsense.

Still, part of it hadn't been: from his position, she couldn't possibly have seen his nametag, even he believed she had. This disturbed her greatly, so she pushed it away.

Sighing, Ginny wondered what was next in store for her. Probably nothing good. As much as she regretted her bleak future as she lay there hollowly, she felt that she had somehow deserved it.

I can only go forward now, she thought. After all, what's done is done and can't be undone.

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	4. A Name and Nothing More

**Disclaimer: **Ditto, have I ever claimed to have owned anything?

**Notes: **Thank you to my reviewers. You know who you are, but to point out names, Luny Lovegud (I just understood the Holocaust reference), xLaramiex, and praypray. I can't tell you how much I love feedback (hint, hint.) I welcome all kinds: you are free (and encouraged) to point out mistakes so that I can fix them. Anyway, with out further ado, here's the next chapter!

_She was swirling in a bed of fog, like a cloud, only without the fluff. It was strange, yet to her, it didn't seem strange at all. She supposed that this was what dreams were. They made perfect sense when you lived them, yet when you woke up, all of the bits and pieces seemed randomly strewn together in an unrealistic way._

_It seemed odd that she would dream such a dream as this. Where was the fire? Where were the screams? Why didn't the stench of death cloud all joy?_

_Yet, because it was a dream, Ginny ignored these questions, rather running her hand playfully through the nothingness. Like smoke, it had little substance despite its massive appearance. Everywhere she looked, there was fog, thicker in some places, but always grey._

_An ashy grey. Looking down, Ginny frowned. This would be where the grief entered, where she would be forced to relive the night of her family's demise; it was always so._

"_Not always," a voice disagreed. Turning, Ginny spotted a woman swaying lackadaisically on a swing, rocking back and forth, seemingly without a care in the world. The woman's eyes told Ginny better though: such deep eyes must have endured some past pain._

_Oddly enough, the swing seemed to be fastened to the fog, which, without substance, was nothing at all. The woman seemed unaware of this irregularity, and Ginny ignored it, as it was, after all, a dream._

"_Who are you?" Ginny questioned, staring. "Do… do I know you?"_

"_No." The woman's words reverberated, sounding strangely familiar, yet distant at the same time. "No one knows me, for I am gone, forever gone!"_

"_What do you mean, gone?" Ginny questioned._

"_Nothing left of me, nothing there but ashes." She smiled weakly. "Not even embers, yet the flame burns anew."_

"_O-kay," Ginny sounded, unsure how to reply to such a remark. She shrugged. "It's okay. My family is gone too." She cast her eyes down, fingering the fog mindlessly._

"_No."_

"_What?" Ginny questioned, looking once more into the woman's alluring eyes. How strange they were, perhaps stranger than anything else there. They seemed piercing, yet unfocused, harsh, yet not uncaring. It seemed the only real thing about this woman was her eyes, for they conveyed the emotions of an otherwise closed person. Her words only confused Ginny, and the rest of her seemed hardly alive._

"_Gone, yes, but not vanished." The woman cocked a childish grin. "Where do vanished objects go?"_

_Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. I reckon into nonexistence or something like that."_

_The woman's grin widened as she tugged on the ropes of the swing. "Yes, yes!" The swing bobbed unsteadily for a moment before resuming a regular pattern._

"_I don't understand," Ginny said, gazing upward to the non-existent sky. "If they are in nonexistence, doesn't that mean that they're gone?" Staring once more into the woman's eyes, she clarified, "Dead?"_

"_To vanish is not to be dead," the woman declared. "Dead to the world, yes, but also never alive to the world." Pumping her legs rapidly, the swing heightened. "Non-existent. He never existed, so he is not dead."_

_Ginny was beginning to think the woman was confusing her on purpose. "Who, he?" she questioned. "Bill?"_

_The woman shook her head. "He."_

_Now, Ginny was certain that woman delighted in confusing her. "Why won't you speak English? Who? Who is he?"_

_The woman slowed her swinging, letting her body go limp, letting her past momentum carry her on. At last, as she stared at her feet and the swing stopped completely, she stated, "Non-existent. He is not dead." Looking up and staring into Ginny's eyes, she said, "Hope is not dead."_

***

She woke abruptly again, without the scream this time. Still, for a moment, Ginny felt that unnerving disorientation, the sense that something was seriously wrong. And with it, the strange feeling that this string of horrific events- also known as her life- was turned around. For a moment, it felt as if she belonged somewhere else, not stranded in a stuffy hospital room, being constantly surveyed. But just for a moment. And then reality settled back in, along with a bitter sense of despair.

She was trapped, trapped in her own life. When your own life became a pain beyond measure, when everything you had to live for was dead, even a simple movement released a non-wavering pain throughout your entire body.

Feeling miserable beyond words- no, beyond feeling- Ginny stared at the ceiling, pondering her existence.

Existence… The word brought her dream to mind, and an almost too vivid image of the woman flashed into her mind. She had seen that woman before somewhere, sometime before her life had been blasted to pieces.

Maybe the woman was a figment of her imagination. Sighing irritably, Ginny turned her thoughts from the woman, even though the woman's words echoed through her mind long after.

Who was he, he who had some power of… hope, had the woman said?

Yeah, right, Ginny thought. Hope is broken; it's an empty word, just a word, and nothing more. Hope cannot heal my soul, and hope cannot bring my family back to life.

Staring, devoid of all emotion, she thought, nothing and no one can.

The words felt harsh, inhuman. Maybe that was what she was becoming in this environment. Two days, only two days, had passed, and already she was withering inside. Was this what she would become? A ghost, a semblance of her past self, someone that looked like her but was empty inside?

No! She jerked up so rapidly that she tumbled forward, her back cracking loudly, her brain pounding in her skull. The abrupt jolt brought forth, as she got tired of discovering, an immense ache that subsided with time. The thought of being such a robotic being in mind and body pained her more so.

Ginny would never be like that. She vowed to never fade out of existence like the others had. She vowed to her brothers, even Percy, to her parents, who were only a vague memory, to any friend she had ever had…

To Harry.

Who? She frowned, wondering why the name seemed familiar. Then again, her imagination was wild, as she had proved at so many instances. All the same, it sounded nice.

To whoever he was, she vowed that she would remain alive. Alive, not only physically, but in spirit.

Ginny cast her eyes down at the numbers that lined her arm. She had been afraid to read them for fear that she would become them. Now, she read them proudly, knowing that they were just numbers, numbers and nothing more.

"049G-W1367," she read proudly. They had gifted her rather than mutilated her as they thought. She was an individual, and no ink could change that. Ginny wondered if it was mere coincidence that the letters "G" and "W" were directly next to each other, as if always to remind her who she was.

Suspicious that she was being watched, Ginny turned to face the doorway, spotting the young man who leaned against the door frame. Clearly, he had been watching for some time.

"Am I that interesting?" she asked coldly. "Are you that paranoid about a girl who is simply getting reacquainted with herself?"

"N-no," he stammered. "I was wondering if you needed any help."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I happen to have as much help as I can handle right now," Ginny replied, leaning back onto her pillow.

The man didn't move, evidently not understanding the cue. "Well, I'm kind of supposed to, um, teach you stuff."

"What, are they training me to be a nurse?"

"I meant about society."

"Oh." Ginny shrugged. "Fun." She still didn't invite him in.

"I know you don't really want to know, but now that you're here…" he trailed off. "Listen, you've got to be careful to survive. Play by the rules. Then they won't notice you."

"And if I don't?"

"Well, then they notice you." Cautiously, he entered the room, sitting at the foot of her bed. "Here, you don't want to be noticed. Attention leads to death."

"So does walking into an intersection with your eyes closed."

The man shook his head. "You are something, aren't you? You're all that's left of a once thriving family, and yet you still play at death as if it were a toy."

"Well, I am a child," she said sarcastically. "Only sixteen years old. God, I really had no choice in whether I wanted them Dark Lord to massacre my family or not! I should so be spared, since I'm so helpless, and since Voldemort is so merciful!"

His hand was over her lips in an instant. By instinct, she reacted aggressively and bit him. He snapped his hand back, staring at her as if she was crazy.

"You said his name!"

"I did," Ginny said slowly.

"But… you never say his name! Never! That's one of those ways to get yourself killed we just talked about, okay?"

"Wow, I'm must be so eager for some guy to kill me," she scoffed. "It's just a name. A name, and nothing more!"

He shook his head. "Only the extremely desperate- or the extremely foolhardy- speak his name." Sighing, he continued, "But, I guess you don't know."

"Enlighten me."

"It's a taboo," he explained. "It was originally designed as a way to fish out members of the Order of the Phoenix. I think they discovered it towards the end, but there weren't enough of them left to make much difference. No one resists the Dark Lord."

"No one?"

"Well, there's one group," the man admitted. "They call themselves 'DA.'"

The name struck something within Ginny. "Dumbledore's Army," she whispered softly.

"What was that?" he questioned.

She shook her head. "What does it stand for?"

"I think it's supposed to stand for 'Defying Authority'- don't look at me, I didn't make it up- but lots of people say it stands for 'Dumb…' well, you know."

She shrugged. So there was someone, at least, who had the courage to stand up against the wrong. Snape's words resurfaced eerily in her head, _Courage will do nothing for you._

"But, they're losing support big time," the man said quickly. "Few people have joined in the last decade out of fear, and there hasn't been an attack in over a year. They're losing hope. Soon, they'll all be dead."

Like Ginny, the man didn't seem to be all that thrilled at the concept.

"You support them," she guessed.

He jumped, looking terrified enough to clamp his hand over her mouth once more. "Of course not!"

"Are you saying you agree with this?" Ginny questioned angrily, gesturing at her arm.

The man frowned. "It's not that, it's just… you don't defy the Dark Lord. It's always going to be this way. People have tried to kill him before. All of them have failed. Plus, point of interest, all of them are dead."

"Why is everyone so afraid of death?" Ginny demanded. "It's just a state of being. We are all going to die!"

He shrugged. "Maybe I'm planning on living forever." The man stood up. "I should get back to work. Just holler if you need me, okay? Oh, by the way, the name's Justin."

She nodded absent-mindedly, not caring in the slightest what happened to him. Seeing this, the man inched away, pausing at the door.

"Who's Harry?"

Alarmed, she jerked up. "Who?"

"Harry. Before, when you woke up, you called me… well, you said that name."

Ginny shook her head, staring into his emerald eyes, more confused than ever. "I don't know."

Accepting that, the man turned away, finally leaving her to be.

"But I'm going to find out," she whispered. Talking to no one in particular, she said, "You may think you've won, but you haven't. I'm still here, and I'm not fading away like the others." Staring determinedly into the distance, Ginny stated, "This isn't done."

* * *

**More action in the next chapter, I promise. Meanwhile, there's a greenish rectangular button right below this that is just begging you to press it…**


	5. Outside the Board

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, see previous disclaimers for further proof.

**Notes: **Hey, guys, remember me? Sorry for the longing waiting time, but I was as busy as a bee (literally). Thank you again to my reviewers, Luny, xLaramiex, and praypray. I need the motivation.

The week dragged on, a long cycle of haunting nightmares when she was both asleep and awake. Snape hadn't returned to torment her with more revelations of the outer world yet, thankfully. Justin, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy sitting with her on his short breaks. Ginny even found herself even mildly looking forward to them. She found that she could manage relaxing for short periods of nightmare-free time while he was talking. As naïve and sheltered as he was, he found it easy to joke. Sometimes, Ginny even laughed along, the sharp ache in her side the only reminder of the torment in her heart.

Usually, once she felt the physical pain, she would remember and once again be withdrawn in her spells of sorrows, her expression emotionless, her eyes burning.

As it happened, they were playing a game of wizard's chess, Justin joking around with his horse, Ginny fingering a pawn carefully.

Noticing her cycle of moods, Justin finally leaned back and asked, "Why?"

"Why what?" Ginny questioned sullenly.

"Why do you get like that? It's like whenever someone reminds you of happiness, you shut down. Do you enjoy being miserable?"

"Do I have a choice?" Ginny countered. "My family is dead. They'll never be able to laugh again. Why should I?"

"So, it's a matter of self pity?"

"It is not!" she defended.

"Oh, I think it is," Justin replied. "You're too caught up in your misery to notice that the world goes on. What do they say… forgive and forget?"

"I can't," Ginny said slowly. "I can't forget. Even if I tried, when I close my eyes… they're still there. They always will be." Closing her eyes, she continued, "They- the government- massacred my family simply because we lived outside their society. We weren't a threat to anyone; maybe, at first, before I was born. But now, when they attacked? We were a young pack forced to act old. There was no reason for it. They did it because they enjoyed seeing our pain. How could I forgive this?" Opening her eyes, she added, "And they were afraid. Afraid of us."

Justin shrugged. "Then, just don't think about it."

"You don't understand," Ginny said. "You never will."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Justin questioned. "Maybe I don't know of pain. Maybe I don't know that I'm living in the cage you think I am. But, if I can't see the bars, why should I try to? Will it make me happy?"

Ginny looked up into his emerald eyes. He was ignorant, so ignorant, yet not so ignorant that he didn't know he was. Ignorance was bliss. Why should he know of the horrors if he was happy without them? A part of her understood his reasoning. The rest of her condemned him for it.

"None of this is real," she fumed. "All of this- the peace, the order- it's just an illusion for a living game of chess. You're all pawns, following blindly to your deaths, never knowing who's holding the pieces. You think you've won; the checkmate has been played. But you're never free."

"It's not like that," Justin protested. "We can choose our own lives. Sure, there are some rules, but don't all games have rules?"

"Is life a game?"

"We have our own freedom. We can choose who we want to be, no matter who we are. We get educations and protection." He smiled. "I'm a nurse, yet I come from the slums, from a poor family who never had enough money to eat. In the olden days, could I have gone so far?"

"See? The illusion of freedom!" Ginny cried. "You think you lead your own life, but he'll always hold the pieces. He'll lead you to your death for his own gain, to advance on the board." Ginny thrust her hands out, knocking over her water glass, watching it shatter on the floor. "Pieces, players- what are we?"

"Whoa, calm down," Justin hushed, pointing his wand at the broken pieces. "Reparo!"

In one movement, the glass reattached itself, making itself whole again. Is it whole? Ginny wondered. Or is it only a mesh of pieces, forced to live the illusion of wholeness?

"I'm outside the board," she said numbly. "A fallen pawn of the opposing color. I watch the moves, but can never intrude. I see the illusion, the game, but I can't join in. Now that I know, I don't want to." Feeling faint, she added weakly, "Once you know, you can't ever let go. You just live on, broken, another piece…"

"I think that's enough conversation for today," Justin said hastily. "Listen, I've got a patient a few rooms away I've got to attend to. I'll come back later?"

It was posed as a question, but she knew nothing would stop him. Listening was his job, even if he never understood. Numbly, she nodded.

"Ring if you need me." With that, he left, leaving the chessboard behind. Ginny reached down and sadly picked up a piece. "Who are you?" she wondered aloud.

It stared back with empty eyes. It was, after all, a brainwashed pawn. Sighing, Ginny tucked it under her pillow, hoping with all her heart that the piece didn't represent her.

***

The week passed quickly afterwards. Justin still visited her, hesitantly at first. She let him come, faking happiness that she would never feel inside.

If life is but a game of false appearances, why shouldn't I pretend too? she asked herself. It didn't matter. She'd be leaving soon enough anyway. That would be when the true game began.

"So, how're you feeling?" Justin asked cheerily one day.

"Beautifully tragic," she replied, quoting some line from something.

"You look well enough," he commented. "Physically, you've recovered remarkably well in such a short time. It's probably for the better, seeing as you'll be leaving today."

Startled, Ginny spat out the water she had been drinking. "What?"

He looked back at her. "Leaving. Today. For Hogwarts."

"But, when… what… why didn't anyone bother telling me about this?" she demanded.

"I thought you knew," Justin replied. "You've been here a week."

While it had dragged on while it lasted, Ginny reflected, now it seemed that the time had passed so quickly. Too quickly.

"Do I really have to go?" Ginny asked.

"It's not for me to decide," Justin said. "I wouldn't mind having you stay longer. But…"

"Rules are rules," Ginny stated. "I know how to play chess."

He laughed, thinking she was joking. "Maybe I'll miss you more than I thought." He handed her a bundle of black clothes. "Here, put them on. It's your uniform. Er, you can dress yourself, right? You don't need help?"

She stared at him skeptically. "You wish."

"Yeah, I thought so," he replied, quickly dashing away.

She laboriously buttoned her blouse, shoving each of the small circles in their strangely elusive slots. The robes completed her outfit, and she stared at herself in the mirror, hardly recognizing herself, yet feeling oddly familiar in these robes. Of course, she had never worn anything like them before. Not in her memory.

Looking up at her face, she scarcely recognized the girl in the mirror as herself. Ginny couldn't quite remember if they had had a mirror at home, but she thought not. Her eyes were a piercing green, and her expression was sullen with dark eyebrows. Her head was still bruised from the impact, though it should have healed long ago. It made her seem as if she had experienced a whole lifetime of horrors in only sixteen years, which probably wasn't far off.

On her forehead, a jagged line stood out above all the rest. Pushing her bangs back, Ginny saw that it was a scar, not quite centered, crooked, almost like a lightening bolt. She got a vague impression that she had seen something of the sort before and wondered how long she had had it. Maybe they had had a mirror after all.

"Well, look at you," came a comment from the door. She turned to find Justin admiring her.

"It's a little big," she said, shuffling her feet.

"You'll grow into it," he replied.

Shyly, she stared down at her feet, noticing the emblem on the robe.

"What's this?" she questioned, fingering the emerald and silver snake.

"The Hogwarts emblem," he answered. "It was Salazar Slytherin's personal seal."

Looking back at the emblem was like being hit square on by a tidal wave of realization.

"It's wrong," she said slowly and panicked. "Why am I in Slytherin?" Ginny looked up frantically. "You don't belong here! Who are you?"

He frowned. Reaching forward and touching her arm, he said, "Acting insane isn't going to save you. It's being smart that will."

Breathing deeply, she cast her eyes down to her arm then back at him. "I didn't mean…" Ginny wasn't quite sure what she had meant or what to say about it now.

"I understand," Justin said grimly. Releasing her, he continued, "I hope you find something there. Whatever you're looking for."

"Thanks," Ginny replied, "but it doesn't exist."

She was referring to freedom. Of course, she supposed she could be referring to a lot of things that were lacking in this world.

Shrugging, Justin left her to be alone once more. Sighing, Ginny sunk into her bed for what would probably be the last time, reaching her hand under her pillow. She drew out the pawn from the earlier chess match. Fingering it, she slid it into her pocket before staring at the ceiling once more. How many times had she done exactly the same pointless thing? The ceiling would never change.

"I see you have made a great deal of progress since I last saw you," a dry voice remarked. Ginny bolted up, only slightly wincing at the tentacles of pain. Turning, she saw Snape in the doorway, straight as a board, garbed in all black as always. Or, at least, as he had always worn in her presence, which, granted, was not very long.

"I suppose you'll have to do," he sighed after examining her. "Now follow me." Without waiting for an answer, he turned and began striding away, leaving her to scramble after him. He had done it on purpose, she knew, to feel like he had power over her. He must have been in a sad state if he needed that.

"Can we slow down?" she asked irritably. "I've hardly been out of bed in a whole week after…"

"I know what you've been through," Snape stated icily.

"So, you're trying to make me pass out?"

"That would be a false assumption," he replied. "I am trying to catch the train."

"Train?" Ginny scoffed. "You mean we don't get to ride magic carpets?"

Ignoring her comment, he strode up to the registration desk. "I am removing 049G-W1367 from your care."

"Authorization code?" the clerk questioned, gazing up at him.

Snape opened his mouth than shut it abruptly, instead showing the clerk a piece of parchment which Ginny assumed displayed the code.

"Jerk," she mumbled.

He whacked her in the stomach with his other hand, causing her to reel backwards. When she looked up, he was unfazed, neatly folding up the parchment as if nothing had happened. Looking back at her snidely, he questioned, "Is there a reason you are clutching your stomach and staring like a brainwashed zombie?"

Immediately, she shut her mouth.

"Perhaps duck tape would help you with your predicament," Snape continued sarcastically. Of course, she could never be sure. Everything with him sounded sarcastic.

"And shampoo might help with yours," Ginny replied confidently.

Rather than reacting in any way, he simply turned away and strode off, not looking back to see if she was following or not. His reaction- or lack of there- surprised her. On the bright side, he hadn't hurt her. On the down side, he hadn't gotten annoyed and that in turn annoyed her.

Catching up, Ginny decided to try again. Either she had some not-so-hidden death wish or she was testing the limits of society. Or both. Or none of the above.

But before she opened her mouth, Snape spoke, his head still facing forward. "Testing my limits will not get you anywhere."

"I wasn't going to say anything," Ginny lied quickly. "I was, uh, yawning. See?" She demonstrated a huge yawn.

"Do not lie to me. You have been in bed all week."

She shrugged. "Maybe it's the company."

"Were you in Hogwarts, you would already be facing several months of detentions, not to mention several new wounds to match your scar."

Gingerly, she touched the lightning scar. It didn't hurt in the slightest, but it tingled on her forehead when it was mentioned. It felt strange. Wrong. But, what didn't?

"You don't need my discipline," Snape continued, "as much as I'd take pleasure in giving it. It's better to enjoy this now, and suffer consequences far worse than you can possibly imagine later."

She supposed that was supposed to scare her into obedience. "Sticks and bones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me," Ginny stated.

"Oh, they use more than sticks and stones," Snape replied dryly with a slight tinge of satisfaction. "In fact, they prefer words. Terrible words, like the one that gave you that."

He tapped, or rather smacked, her head, making her eyesight hazy from the impact. Deciding that fainting in front of him would not improve her condition, Ginny took a break from provoking him. Instead, she asked, "So, how are we getting there exactly?"

"Are you deaf?"

"I know, I know, you said we were taking some sort of train. But what is it?"

"Were you raised by apes?"

"Would that surprise you if I said yes?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, no, I wasn't."

Sighing emphatically, Snape recited, "Train. A mode of transportation in which…"

"I know what a train is, id… I mean, uh, professor."

"Professor?" Snape questioned, turning to stare at her in disbelief.

"Huh, how did that slip out?" Ginny asked. "Well, I suppose you were always after the job anyway. So, what is it exactly that I'm supposed to call you?"

Instead of answering, he grabbed her arm. "How did you know that?"

"Ouch!" Ginny attempted to squirm away. "Know what? That you're a professor?" Then, in disbelief, she squealed, "Wait, you're a professor? I have to have a class with you?"

He gazed at her for a second, the let go abruptly. "No. No, I am not a professor at Hogwarts."

She sighed in relief. "Good, because that would be torture."

"Literally, if you kept up the snide remarks you seem so fond of."

"You'd probably teach in the dungeons and make us drink poisoned potions or something like that."

"Yes, I suppose so," he remarked distantly.

Staring at him then at what he was staring at, Ginny questioned. "What, what is this? Some sort of rundown telephone booth?"

"This is the train."

Ginny skeptically examined the booth, then turned back to Snape. "Are you sure _you _know what a train is?"

Ignoring her, he made a grab for her arm, but she snatched it away this time. "No," she stated.

"Fine," he stated. "If you would prefer to Apparate by yourself and loose several limbs in the process, be my guest. It might even include your stunningly large head. Of course, that would require a wand, which you do not have…"

"Alright, alright!" she growled, thrusting her arm in his direction.

He pulled her along into the booth.

"What? I don't get a thank you?"

"Lucky you, you get to live." He dialed several buttons, pressing the phone to his ear. "This is Agent 049 requesting Apparation clearance for two."

"Please state your authorization code."

Snape glanced at Ginny, glowering. She simply smiled innocently back.

Grumbling, Snape mumbled something that sounded like "Muffliato." Strangely, Ginny couldn't hear what he said after that. She wondered if it worked two ways.

"Don't even try it," he mouthed as she opened her mouth to try. Grumbled, she folded her arms and stared at her feet.

The next thing she knew, she was at the foot of a giant black train in the midst of a brick passage with a crumbling foundation. There were spiked iron fences around everything, even certain walls.

The train itself was fairy impressive with a steam engine in all. Its décor, however, lacked greatly, which she suspected was true of most everything in this society.

"Well, I suppose they say that black is this year's pink," she mumbled.

Snape gestured at the entrance, which opened at his movement. "Ladies first."

"Manlike-things second," she grumbled numbly. For some reason, the cold environment had sucked away all of the mocking in here. She didn't have the spirit for much anything right now, realizing that this must be the journey all students made to Hogwarts. Odd, she could almost see their ghosts, moving in a slow, depressing motion.

_Suddenly, the train tumbled away, engines roaring, steam bellowing. Its wheels turned like lightning, and its roar was like thunder. Above it all, Mum's voice was audible, shouting orders at the twins. The response came jokingly, "We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat!"_

_Anxiously, Ginny ran with the train, trying desperately to keep up. She wanted to go on the train too, like all of her brothers were. While she was at the Burrow, the boring Burrow, they'd be having fun doing spells and tricks. Why was she always left out?_

_In little time, the train shot forward, besting her. Desperately, she called one last farewell, gazing at a compartment with its curtains undrawn. In it sat a lone boy with raven hair. For a moment, his emerald eyes stared back at her, and she noticed his oddly shaped scar, like a deformed lightning bolt._

_Halting, she whispered, "Harry. Harry Potter."_

And then everything jolted back into real time. Ginny felt weak in her knees at the hallucination, for that was all it was, all it ever was and had been. How strange that she should imagine laughter and happiness in such a dreary place, that she should actually wish fervently to enter this train when it was the last place in the world she wanted to be. And then there was Harry again, her seemingly imaginary friend. The vision had seemed so familiar too, so right, unlike everything here.

Of course, that was what wishes were, irrational desires never to be achieved. Of course she wished for a life like that, but it was unreal. She knew to never get caught up in fantasies, lest they consume her.

The only real thing about her fantasy was that she was about to enter the same train, experience the same drastic change in her life, beginning an irreversible journey, for better or for worse.

"Well?" Snape asked dryly. "Are you coming?"

Hesitantly, but with the confidence of that little girl chasing the powerful locomotive, Ginny took the first step onto the train. One step, then the next, and it was done.

* * *

**One small step for a young woman, one giant leap as as your mouse travels to the greenish rectangular button below...**


	6. The World Doesn't Need Another Hero

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Harry Potter, wouldn't I live in a castle?

**Notes: **I know, I know, I haven't updated in a month, but I have a perfectly valid excuse. You see, this strange thing called "life" took a hold of me and pulled me away from my computer, to my immense displeasure. So, it really wasn't my fault. But, for you, I made it extra long and action-packed!

The inside of the train was as dreary as the exterior, a long line of empty compartments. Walking by the vacant enclosures was eerily unsettling. She tried not to stare into the glass windows, windows into emptiness.

Everything was a shade of grey, with plain yet hostile patterns. The train would have looked more welcoming in brighter, purer colors like scarlet, or gold, or navy blue even. Maybe it had been, she reflected, before it was painted over. Now, the darkness loomed everywhere, a warning not to try anything.

It was funny how paranoid she was getting about such a trivial thing as train décor. Ginny supposed that was how they wanted her to feel. A dull pain throbbed in her head, and she dropped the subject entirely, walking mindlessly down the long corridor.

Once more, ghosts popped up everywhere, whispering to each other. Whispering to her. A phantom trolley cart creaked down the halls, followed by hordes of phantom children, giggling, haggling, chattering.

Looking back at Snape, she wondered if he heard them too. From his expressionless face, she guessed not.

You're crazy, she deducted. You're hallucinating, and you're crazy.

Immediately, the ghosts vanished, as if they had never been, though, Ginny was certain that at one time or another, they had existed.

Pausing her walk, she turned. "Do we seriously get the whole train to ourselves?"

"Does that bother you?"

"No, it's just… well, it's kind of strange."

"It is standard procedure. All students travel to Hogwarts on the Hogwart's express. You are no exception."

"It pollutes the environment," she grumbled.

"And it did before the Dark Lord took over as well," he replied. "Now, if you would please select your seat."

Glaring, she thrust the door of the nearest compartment open, jamming it into the wall. She began to slam it shut behind her, but Snape curled his fingers around it.

"You never said I had to sit with you," she complained.

"Do you listen to everything I say?" he asked. She frowned. Not waiting for her to answer, he continued, "For your own good, you should."

"And since when do you work for my own good?"

He didn't answer to that. She could tell that he had one, only he bit it back, like she never did.

Hadn't she been quiet before? With her brothers, not so much. But with everyone else? The factory girls, though for some reason she couldn't remember them so well, had been one of her only outer source of human interaction, minus the interaction. She hadn't talked to them. No one had talked much there, where opening one's mouth let the doom in the air seep into one's soul. Well, some of the girls had talked, but not to her. She had always seemed different to them, even though they had no idea how much.

Why the biting remarks now? How had she found the courage to speak up? Had it even been a lack of courage that had been stopping her?

Well, whatever she was doing, it felt perfectly natural. Ginny wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Sighing, Ginny slumped down into the train seat as Snape shut the door to the compartment. Smoothly, he sank into the opposite seat with the posture of a dignified man. He was dignified, Ginny guessed, in this society at least. She had always disliked dignified men anyway.

The train began chugging, speeding up slowly before racing down the track. Peering out the window, Ginny saw that it went on for miles and miles. Hogwarts seemed so far away. Too bad that, with each turn of the wheel, it drew closer and closer.

She wondered who drove the train. Surely it was a waste to use it simply for one student for the sake of equality. Ginny honestly didn't give a care in the world whether she traveled by train not- she could walk there for all she cared. Maybe she'd have time to plan some miraculous escape on the way there.

Come to think of it, why couldn't she escape? The thought had never occurred to her to try and run before she was trapped in the school forever. She hadn't had much chance, but that was hardly an excuse she would accept.

I've been witless! Ginny thought. Justin was right; she had been moping too much. It was time to accept reality. Not this reality, the one where Snape held her chains. The one where she controlled her own life.

Maybe that's why he has so much power, Ginny thought. Voldemort. He makes the world so dreary, trying to drain away all of the happiness and hope in the world. He makes them feel like they're chained so they believe they're done. But they aren't. As long as there's someone who's willing to fight, we aren't done.

For one shining instant, as Ginny glanced out the window at the passing meadows, she felt a glimmer of hope blossom in her chest, no longer a seed, though not yet a flower. There was hope for her yet, and for once, she opened up the doors of her heart, allowing in the bright sunlight of happiness. Outside, the clouds broke, and a brilliant light shone down on the land. It filled her soul, nourishing all that had been dormant and black. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Snape turn his head towards the window too, something strange in his eyes. Maybe he enjoyed sunlight too. Maybe it could heal his soul in the way it had hers.

For one moment, she knew she could win this game of life. Until everything turned black.

Abruptly, the train jolted to a halt, throwing Ginny towards the window. Looking out, she saw the black clouds close together, sealing the patch in the sky. Ginny stared at the spot where the sunlight had shone just moments ago, wondering where it had gone. Was it really still there, behind all of the darkness? It seemed impossible.

She didn't notice the window fogging up until her hand, pressed against it, became icy cold. With a start, she whipped it away, cradling it with her other arm. Looking back to Snape, she saw that he had grown a shade paler, if that was possible.

"What's happening?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't betray any fear.

He simply stared into the distance, his lips forming a single word. "Dementors."

"What are Dementors?" she began as a synchronized scraping sound reverberated across the entire train, and every door opened.

"What are they playing at?" Snape mumbled, grabbing his wand. "There's only one student on the train, and I'm here. They shouldn't have to…" He trailed off, leaving the rest of his thought unsaid.

"Have to what?" Ginny pressed anxiously. She wished she had a wand. Not that it would be much use.

"To search us," he answered grimly.

"Search? I don't have any luggage. How am I going to live without any luggage anyway?"

"Not luggage," he said. "They search you."

Before Ginny could question him further, she felt something press down upon her, and she groaned slightly. It was as if a whole world of despair had sunk into her soul. She tried to remember the sunlight. She pictured its rays, the hope it had brought, but for some reason, the effort left her empty.

Snape's fists clenched into balls, and she saw that he was facing the same discomfort as her. He was staring ahead, towards the door of the compartment. Following his gaze, Ginny caught sight of the clocked figure, its cloak billowing in the wind. Strange, because there was no wind. Ginny's mind seemed to be caught in slow motion. It seemed that everything was moving at a laconic pace, and an eerie one. She couldn't move, only stare. She had no doubt that this figure was dangerous.

She looked to Snape to protect her, but he looked as frozen as her. Some overseer he was.

The Dementor, for she was certain that was what it was, seemed to stare at Snape intently from within its cloak. Ginny wondered what was in there. It didn't seem to have eyes, yet it glided with ease.

It didn't speak, only staring at Snape, who raised his wand feebly. He moved his lips, but no words seemed to come out. His eyes dilated, and he withdrew in agony.

"Lily…" he whispered, his wand clattering to the floor, echoing hollowly. His skin seemed inhumanly white. His eyes held such sorrow that, for one instant, Ginny felt sorry for him. Until she remembered she would be experiencing it next.

Summoning all of the courage left inside of her, she grabbed for his wand, but it slipped from her fingers in her haste, rolling further across the floor. Hissing, the Dementor whipped its head towards her, its- what to call it?- lack of eyes glaring at her, into her soul. She tried to turn away, but found herself unable to. Instead, she fumbled blindly for the wand, watching Snape out of the corner of her eye, begging him to rescue her. To her dismay, he was still rooted in place, his eyes staring at something she couldn't see.

Her fingers found the wand just as her vision vanished, and she was suddenly running, running from the Death Eaters on that night. Unlike that night, she froze, turning towards them as the curse raced at her. The scene, dark and real, seemed so fake to her, as if it was someone else's memory. Not hers.

She saw her brother standing frozen in that line, restrained by two Death Eaters. He wasn't going anywhere anyway. His face, pallid, was shocked, the face of one forced to witness terrible, inhuman, unreal sights that no one should see at any age. Of course Ron couldn't run.

Beyond the Death Eaters, Ginny spotted something she knew hadn't been there before, or rather, someone. On the roof of one of the neighboring shacks stood the woman, tall and stern. Ginny shouldn't have been able to discern the woman's features in this darkness, but perhaps because this was a vision, not reality, she saw that the woman was frowning, her hair swinging loosely in the wind. Her eyes stared back at Ginny, piercing her, but not like the Dementors. Studying her closely, Ginny noticed a single tear roll down the woman's cheek. But before she could look closer, the curse slammed into her, and she jarred against the wall of the train compartment, finding herself sprawled across the floor.

The Dementor faltered for one instant, seeming, in human terms, confused. Ginny cursed herself for hesitating and raised her wand. But before she could mutter any words, the Dementor resumed its attack with vigor.

She wanted to swear with the foulest language she could think of for wasting her one chance to thwart the creature. Not that she knew any spells anyway, but at least she could have gone out knowing she had tried, no matter how feeble the effort.

Ginny wondered what it was doing to her anyway. Searching her, Snape had said, but he had seemed afraid when he said it. It wasn't like him to be afraid. Seeing him so helpless had frightened her into action, which she had failed. Now she was being subject to whatever horrors he had experienced. But what exactly was the point?

_Dementors,_ a male voice rang in her head,_ are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles feel their presence, though they can't see them. Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself...soulless and evil. You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life._

She wondered who had said that. Well, whoever it was, he seemed to have hit it right on the spot.

Glancing around, Ginny watched various curses of all colors fly by her. Swearing, she dodged one by inches. She seemed to be in some corridor, a wand in her hand, and it wasn't Snape's. It felt right in her hand, and she raised it with confidence.

"Stupify!" she shouted, aiming at one of the clocked Death Eaters, who hardly had time to raise his own wand before the curse landed.

As she hurried down the hall, Ginny thought, Harry, I need to tell Harry.

Everywhere she looked, people were fighting, Death Eaters against other people that seemed vaguely familiar. There were adults and teenagers- students, she guessed- alike. In her mind, she recognized the place as Hogwarts, though she had no way of knowing.

"Ginny!" someone called, and she turned to find Ron, followed by two others. The taller one was a boy, who glanced nervously behind them. He seemed a bit awkward in his stance, though he held his wand like he knew what he was doing. The other, a girl with hair so blonde it seemed white, had confidence radiating from her. She seemed distant, and she stared beyond. Ginny wasn't sure at what and didn't try to figure it out.

"Where were you?" her brother asked with concern. Looking up at him, she saw, although he was worried, he wasn't the meek and terrified boy she knew. Ron seemed calm, cool in battle, certain with his magic. There was some layer of doubt, but when wasn't there? "We were looking for you- well, I actually, Luna and Neville were stuck by the potion's room when I ran into them."

"Literally," the boy, Neville, said, shuffling his feet.

"I was…" Ginny stammered, then stopped, unsure where she was. She was suddenly aware that she had no idea what was going on. She didn't remember any of it. It was impossible for her to know such things. And yet, for once, Ginny felt right. Whole. Like this was where she was meant to be.

Yeah, in an intense battle with people dying around me, that's exactly where I want to be, she thought sarcastically. The other part of herself ignored this comment and took advantage of this scene. "Who's Harry?"

Ron seemed taken aback, but by his response, Ginny knew at least that Harry existed here. "What do you… you mean, where's Harry, right? And how should I know? Last I knew, he was with Dumbledore."

"No, who is he? Why do I remember him? What does he have to do with me?"

"Ginny, are you alright?" Ron questioned. "Did you get hit with a memory spell or something?" And then: "Is Lockhart here?"

For some reason, his lips curled into a smile. Frowning, Ginny said, "I don't understand, and I don't care. Who is…?"

But she didn't get to finish the question before something exploded around the corner, the wave given off by the impact pushing them backwards. Ginny tumbled into the girl, who caught her, staring into her eyes.

"You don't belong here," the girl stated. It wasn't a question.

"I… I don't…"

"But you can." The girl- Luna, was it?- spun Ginny around, pointing forwards. Ginny watched as the battle ensued. Despite the flashing curses and rising smoke, she could make out a figure racing through the corridor, not bothering even to pause and watch the battle. He had raven black hair and piercing green eyes. Once more, she was able to distinguish features she should not have been able to from such a distance. This time, she noticed a lightning bolt scar centered on his forehead.

Involuntarily, her own hand reached for her own scar, slightly off center, but somehow, the same as his.

She turned back towards Luna, but Luna had vanished. In her place was the woman, smiling for once.

"Yes," she whispered. "Harry Potter, the second half. Your second half."

She started pulling her arm away, but Ginny grasped it tenaciously. "But _who _is he? Why is he so important to me?"

But the woman simply smiled and unwrapped Ginny's fingers. Twisting her head around, Ginny caught one last sight of the boy- Harry- before the vision vanished.

Once more, she sat with the Dementor. Ginny knew somehow that only moments had passed, even though it had seemed longer. She also knew not to hesitate; this time she pointed her wand at the creature of darkness and shouted the words, "Expecto Patronum!"

Immediately, she felt his power of despair, if that was what it was, press against her, threatening to collapse her efforts before they had started, but she focused on the metal picture of Harry. His scar. Her scar. They were one. And she had no idea what she was talking about. The only thing that mattered was that it was that it worked.

A shield sprang from her wand in the form of a beautiful bird, a Phoenix, driving back the Dementor. It hissed, throwing itself against her creation. She stayed strong, ignoring the blackness in the air and focusing on her hope. Confidence seemed to radiate from her, like the sun shining through the clouds. That was all it took to keep up the effort.

But there were more. Two more of the cloaked figures, aware of the resistance, joined the original one. Ginny's shield faltered for an instant, and she swore. She wasn't sure she would be able to repeat the spell, much less before they resumed their "search."

As another Dementor joined the struggle, the shield shattered, pushing Ginny back. Except, there wasn't anywhere back to go. Instead, she slammed against the wall for the second time, knocking the wind out of her. The Dementors became distant blurs, and she felt them once more pulling at her. Ginny tried to croak out words, anything that would help, but nothing came. Instead, she felt the wand ripped away from her. She tried to hang on, but there was no strength behind her effort; it felt so awful, to die helpless like this.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement, though she couldn't make out people. She heard a roar, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" She suddenly remembered Snape's presence. Her shield must have awakened him from his stupor. Despite the darkness, the shining animal- a doe, she thought- raced forth, summoned by those magic words.

She felt the despair go away, saw the darkness leave the train- but, no, it was darkness that was settling into her vision as she slipped away into its grasp…

***

When she opened her eyes, Snape was knelt beside her, actually looking concerned. Seeing her staring at him, his expression changed to his normal passive face.

"What happened?" she asked weakly, gathering the strength the sit up.

"The Dementors came on their mandatory search. Dementors are…"

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life," Ginny finished, quoting the unknown man. "I know what they are. Why did they come?"

"As I was saying," Snape continued irritably, though at the interruption or a her knowledge, she was unsure, "the Dementors search the train after new students arrive."

"And you neglected to tell me this because you wanted them to kill me."

"Dementors do not kill," Snape informed her. "What they do is much, much worse."

"Let's see… they make me spend eternity with you?"

He slapped her. "Foolish girl! You know nothing of this!"

"That's why I asked for an explanation."

"With an attitude like that, it's a wonder you're still alive."

"Whatever. It's not like you care anyway. Just tell me what happened."

"And why should I?"

"Because if you don't, I'll tell everyone how much you screamed when the Dementor had you in its grasp. Or whatever you call it."

She hoped he didn't see through her bluff. He seemed to growl slightly, but reluctantly, he continued.

"They kiss you."

Ginny stared at him for a second before erupting with laughter. "They kiss you? Seriously? Boy, I should have let them finish with you!"

"Which is to say, they devour your soul until all that's left is an empty shell, alive but condemned to live without any knowledge, emotion, or any conception at all."

Ginny gulped. "Wow, I really should have let them finish with you." Her comment, however, lacked conviction.

"If you had, you would be in the same position right now," Snape replied.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Who do you think saved your life while you were lazing around on the floor?"

"Well, technically, you saved my soul," Ginny replied, not wanting to admit how easy it would have been to leave her to die. "Wow, that sounded wrong…"

"I did. And you should be thankful, for the Dark Lord would not be terribly disappointed if a disobedient little girl mysteriously disappeared while in my care. He might even be pleased."

"Yeah, well…" She couldn't think of a good retort. "Your hair is greasy!"

"And yours is disgusting," he retorted.

Her hand flew to fix it from its terrible state of disarray. She stopped a moment later, ashamed she had succumbed to his insult.

"Yeah, right. I just had an itch."

"I was not joking. You bled all over it."

"It's naturally red, idiot."

Nonetheless, she reached up once more to check. Sure enough, the scab from her former head wound had opened up, spilling blood not only on her hair but all across the compartment.

"Um, I don't suppose you'd like to maybe…" Ginny trailed off. Snape raised an eyebrow. He was going to make her ask. "Heal me?" she finished with a growl.

"You could heal yourself. You seemed so skilled with a wand before," Snape replied dryly. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me how a girl completely ignorant of all magic knew the incantation to, much less was able to perform a perfect patronus?"

Ginny wasn't completely certain herself how she had done it. She had just known, like a second nature.

_You second half…_The woman's words echoed eerily through her head. It could have been the woman, but Ginny thought not.

"Harry taught me," she whispered. "He showed me how, and he said… he said I was good."

"Who's Harry?"

"I… I don't know. No, I know, but I can't remember. But I will."

Snape looked at her skeptically. She simply sighed, unable to explain herself further. "When the Dementor had me, I saw a lot of things."

"Your worst memories."

"Yes, but… they aren't mine."

Snape settled down on the seat, folding his arms. Ginny reached for her own seat, trying unsuccessfully to pull herself up. Now that she was aware of it, her head throbbed with agony. Frustrated, she stopped trying to get up and accepted the fact that she would spend the rest of the journey on the floor.

Why am I even bothering explaining this to him? she asked herself. I hate him.

Then, she answered herself, Because it'll look suspicious if you don't.

So what?

He saved your life.

Ginny pretended not to care, but inside, she knew she was at least thankful that Snape hadn't condemned her to the awful fate of being soulless.

"At first, I saw that night when the Death Eaters came. No surprise there. It was weird. I mean, of course it was weird seeing something that happened a long time ago, but it was weird in that it didn't feel right. It didn't feel like mine."

"Sometimes, people deny their grief to try and make it not have happened. It is not terribly effective."

"Okay, one, that only happens to psychologically challenged people…"

"Which you fit the requirements of," Snape replied.

"What!" Ginny exclaimed.

"You have been in a coma for a year. You have also been reported to be unstable."

"Who…" she began, then stopped. "Justin." Ginny had thought he was her friend, but all along, he had been spying on her too.

To her surprise, Snape asked, "Who?"

"The nurse."

"You had several nurses."

"I…" Of course, she had had several nurses. She immediately felt guilty that her suspicion had fallen on Justin so quickly. But, was it wrong? He could have been spying on her. She hoped not.

"Anyway, I know it sounds crazy, but it just didn't seem real. And then I saw a memory that wasn't mine. Only, it felt like mine."

"What did you see?"

Now he was going too far. She shouldn't have to tell him if she didn't want to. "I'm not sure," she lied. Well, it was only a half lie. She wasn't completely certain what the vision had been, only that the woman had somehow unlocked something within her. Whether it was real or not, well, that was still to be seen. "Um, it was all blurry, but I think there was this boy who was whispering the words to me." She shrugged. "Maybe it was a subconscious memory, like a nightmare I had while in my coma. It probably wasn't even real. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm speaking nonsense."

"Maybe not," Snape said. "After all, you did know the spell."

"Luck," she said. "Look, can we forget about this?"

"I'm required to report it."

She scowled. "Wouldn't it be so much easier if you just pretended to be the hero?"

"The world doesn't need another hero," Snape replied, pounding his hand down on the seat. "This is not a world where good people always win, where the men are heroic knights who sacrifice themselves for justice, where the rules are always fair. This is life."

She hadn't expected that monologue from him. He didn't want to be a hero; that shouldn't have been a surprise to her.

"You saved my life," she said. "Does that make one a hero?" After a pause, she added, "I think it's for each individual to decide what they are, and what they want to be."

When he was silent, she continued, "Look, I don't need people thinking I'm crazy, and you don't need anymore work on your hands, okay? It'd win you favor, and I'm not too savvy about being the center of attention."

"Oh?"

"Bad things happen when you stand out." Justin had taught her something similar to that. If he was a spy, at least he had taught her some useful things.

"I see you're learning," Snape replied, and for the first time, he seemed content with her.

Ginny nodded absent-mindedly. Let him think that. But there was no way she was just going to fade away. Now more than ever, she felt determined to push forward and solve the mystery of herself.

Remembering Snape's encounter with the Dementor, Ginny questioned, "Who's Lily?"

She had though the question was simple, but seeing the pained look on his face, Ginny was fairly certain he wouldn't bother answering her. To her surprise, he answered softly, "A girl. Just a girl." It was as if he was trying to convince himself as well as her.

She nodded, allowing him his privacy, though it hardly seemed fair. After all, he had intruded in her life, did she have no rights to his? But that was how it worked. At least he hadn't ignored her, like a child. Maybe he even trusted her a little.

Then, she shuddered, wondering why she would want his trust.

And so the voyage continued in silence. When she could, Ginny climbed back onto her seat, shaking slightly. She realized Snape had never healed her wound, but she wasn't going to bother asking again.

As if reading her mind, Snape leaned forward. Pointing his wand at the cut, he stated, "Episkey."

Immediately, the scab not only reformed but completely disappeared. Touching the place where it had been, she felt nothing but flawless skin.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

He said nothing, only leaning back in his seat. Even with their shared encounter, they still were not friends, nor did they have any wish to be.

Sighing, Ginny relaxed, her mind racing as she tried to understand her visions, but she got no further than before. Giving up, she simply stared out the window, hoping for the sun. But it never returned.

Sooner than she ever expected, the train slowly decelerated, and she realized at once that the giant castle ahead of her was Hogwarts. The sight was oddly familiar, and once more she remembered the vision. But she only got one brief sight before the train jolted to a complete stop.

It was really happening now. She was going to Hogwarts, and she had no idea what to expect, only that there was no escape now. Maybe, in order to undermine her past, she would have to reside here, obey them, if only for a short time.

Her journey was just beginning. But, for now, the voyage was done.

**

* * *

**

Happy Easter, if you celebrate Easter, and if you don't, Happy Sunday. If you want to give me a present, there's a small button right below that, translated in the language of R&R, means "Click me."


	7. What Is My Name?

**Disclaimer: **Yes! (Evil laughter) I own Harry Potter! Well, in my dreams.

**Notes: **Thank you, to those of you who reviewed. And to those of you who didn't, here's your chance.

Stepping out of the train, Ginny's first impulse was to search for the giant castle that would now be her home. Not that it took much searching to find it. Hogwarts rose above everything, seeming to even tower above the clouds. Ginny was certain she had never seen anything so big as Hogwarts, even in her dreams. It was grander than she had imagined, elegant designs and intricate stonework protruding from every structure. It had some sense of symmetry, though there were portions that seemed randomly placed. Even they, though, were orderly.

And all this was from a distance. She wondered how different it was up close.

Yet, even as she watched, Ginny noticed a certain darkness, a shadow that seemed to cover the castle. There were towers that appeared abandoned, lit solely by the fading twilight. Some of the architecture seemed crude, and Ginny had no doubt that there were spies all around. Perhaps even some of the gargoyles she had praised before were only built to report student's misbehavior. It made Ginny shiver that such a seemingly grand and invincible place could be reduced to a dreary and haunting prison in so little time.

By the time Snape made his way off the train, Ginny was done gawking, turning instead to face the train. As it raced off, she wondered idly if it was her freedom that was slipping away instead.

She glanced up at Snape, who looked down at her impatiently.

"Just taking in the view," she stated, turning away from the fleeing train. He nodded, clearly not happy, but Ginny thought he understood.

Snape gestured forward, towards a carriage that had seemed to have come from nowhere. It was an ordinary carriage, not that Ginny had seen anything before to compare it to. It was, at least, as she imagined an ordinary carriage should look, except for the missing horses.

"Well," she muttered, "aren't they courteous?" She wondered if they were supposed to bridle Snape to it or something.

Not hearing or perhaps ignoring her, Snape thrust open the carriage door and stepped inside. Ginny, supposing she was meant to follow, joined him in the carriage, shutting the door behind her. It felt good to slam it shut, even better if Snape's fingers had been between the door and the carriage. Alas, they were not, and Ginny sighed. On the bright side, she had found something else, something more trivial and random than her life, to mope about.

Both Ginny and Snape sat, staring at each other for a second, before the carriage jolted forward. Startled, Ginny grabbed the side, steadying herself. Snape, as always, was unfazed.

Ginny whipped her head around, trying to determine what was driving the carriage. It seemed to be propelled forward by invisible horses, probably some strange magical breed.

She didn't want to ask Snape, but it wasn't as if she had anything better to do besides imagining his deformed fingers and, more amusing, his shouted curses, though even that was getting old.

"They are thestrals," Snape answered, bored. "They are visible only those who have witnessed death."

Puzzled, Ginny glanced back at the horses, or thestrals, as Snape had named them, wondering if this new knowledge would somehow grant her sight. She had witnessed death, and lots of it. Maybe they were only visible to those who had witnessed death and knew what thestrals were. Still, she saw only air, the hoof beats thumping eerily through it.

"Are you sure?" she questioned, glancing back.

"Absolutely," he replied, sincere in his conviction.

Peeking one last time and still seeing nothing, Ginny concluded that there was nothing at fault with the fact but something wrong with her. Shrugging, she added it to the long list of mysteries about herself to solve. It was a stupid requirement anyway.

"Can you see them?" she asked.

Grimacing slightly, he answered, "Yes."

"Who…?" she began.

"Hasn't everyone witnessed death?" he snapped. "Haven't you?"

"Evidently not," she replied.

He blinked, just realizing now why she had been so inquisitive. "You cannot see them?"

"Unless they constantly camouflage into their surroundings then, no, I can't."

"But, you watched your brother killed, correct?"

"Murdered. By scum like you."

He seemed not to have heard the last part, staring instead at what she assumed were the thestrals. "Did you, perhaps, close your eyes?"

"There was no time, and I wouldn't anyway," she declared, for some reason proud of the fact she had stared death in its face. "Besides, there were others. I watched my house burn with my father and two brothers trapped inside. I walked in to find my mother's body after she committed suicide." After a pause, she added, "I was six."

"Neither of those counts as witnessing death straight out."

"And there was Marta," Ginny continued. "She was a girl at the factory, though not for long. She died of laryngitis while holding my hand. She was one of the only ones who would talk to me." Pausing only briefly, she said, "My life has been one cycle of death. Bill was just the most recent."

She wondered if any of her words would touch him. She thought not, and she was right.

"There must be some reason," Snape said, fumbling around for some explanation.

"There's a reason," Ginny replied. "I'm broken. The thestrals don't work on me. Maybe I've seen too much death. Maybe I'm not even really here myself. Nothing else here is right, why should I be?"

"Nonsense!" Snape declared. "You are being ridiculous, girl."

"I have a name you know," she said. "Have you ever called me by it? Do you even remember it?"

"You are 049G-W1367," he stated dryly.

"That's not my name," she said, "and it never will be." Leaning forward, she asked once more, "What is my name?"

He did not answer.

"I don't exist here either." It wasn't a question, rather conviction. "It's like being dead, only worse. Ginny Weasly, the nameless living dead."

"You are not dead," he said irritably.

"Ginny Weasley is."

"Your name is 049G-W1367, and 049G-W1367 is alive. As to how long you last, that is up to you and your self-control."

The words made Ginny feel oddly numb. No, she thought. Hadn't she vowed never to fade? Never to go by 049G-W1367?

And what ever had happened to that escape plan?

Not yet, she told herself as the carriage passed the Forbidden Forest. I'm in unfamiliar territory.

Instead, she took in her surroundings, trying to memorize everything she could. The forest, at least, seemed vaguely familiar. Or maybe it was just the darkness. Ginny swore she saw faces staring at her from within the depths of the shadows, and they didn't look human. Or friendly.

But there were other places too that seemed strangely recognizable to Ginny, though there was no reason they should be: the small untidy hut, abandoned over the years, the ovular playing field complete with rows of spectator stands, the orderly greenhouses packed with various flora. She supposed she must have heard about them somewhere else, from her mother, perhaps, before her death.

The campus was huge. It seemed a miracle that Muggles didn't notice the castle, even with the rumored protection spells. A lake full of sea creatures (and, for some reason, Ginny thought, a giant squid) covered acres, and the Forbidden Forest (if indeed that was its name) blocked the other side. There really wasn't much room for escape, unless she could breathe underwater.

Gillyweed, she thought in a moment of clarity before promptly forgetting the word and wondering what she was talking- well, thinking- about.

It was either that or face the perils within the Forbidden Forest, which would no doubt be either painful or suicidal. Or both.

Well, she noted, there is one more option. To stay.

But she pushed that thought away for the moment. What was there for her here? She would learn magic. She might even enjoy it. But she would never be free, and she couldn't stand being a puppet.

There's got to be some secret passage in there somewhere, Ginny thought as the castle approached rapidly. It was even more gargantuan up close. She couldn't even guess how tall the front doors were. At least they were secure, though she wondered if it was less for repelling invaders and more for imprisoning the students.

To her surprise, Snape avoided the front door. Seeing the question in her eyes, or perhaps noticing her off-beat footsteps, he stated, "The students will have started their supper by now, and as you very kindly noted before…"

"Attention, bad," Ginny recited wearily, noticing dark figures patrolling on the roof. As Snape nodded and turned away, she added in a hushed tone thick with sarcasm, "Evil cloaked things, good." Now she was certain: no one left this place who wasn't supposed to. Maybe she'd be the first. Or maybe she would be just another runaway, another corpse.

Despite the growing darkness, it was warm. Frowning, Ginny realized that it was summer. Hogwarts wasn't a year-round school, was it? She struggled, trying to remember but found herself drawing a blank.

Obviously it is, she decided, or I wouldn't be going here, would I? Still, Ginny grasped with a start her complete ignorance despite her odd familiarity with the school. Where would she stay? Which classes would she take? What materials would she need?

She wasn't sure what to ask first. So, she decided to remain silent as they trudged up to one of the side entrances. Snape bowed his head towards the guard, who grunted some sort of greeting, or perhaps it was a curse, as the guard didn't seem terribly pleased to see Snape. Then again, who would be?

"In unquestioned service to the Dark Lord, do you keep his conquests?" Snape asked the guard. Ginny cast a dubious glance at them, but he didn't meet her gaze. She guessed it was some sort of maxim. Groaning silently, she wondered if she would have to memorize it. Maybe it was just the ranked servants- that was what she called them, forget the "overseer" nonsense- that had to say it. She suspected that it was just another way of reinforcing the big idea here: power, and who had it. Snape obviously had power over her. She was beneath him… for now.

"With vigilance and strength, I stand," the guard replied gruffly, moving his scimitar to let both of them through, though he studied Ginny with suspicion. Quickly, she turned away, not daring to look back into his oily black eyes. They had been full of darkness, wide pools of greed and immorality. He was the type of scum who would kill without a thought on an uttered command by the right person. She wondered how he lived with it, the guilt of killing another person. Maybe he didn't have a conscience. Maybe he and his kind, like Dementors, were soulless, having to steal others' instead.

The hallways of Hogwarts were dark and empty as Snape led her through, and she found the silence unnerving. Both of them cast long shadows in the dim torchlight, shadows that mingled down the hallway, making Ginny shudder. There was something haunting about this place, as if the darkness outside followed her, tracing every step she took. She wondered if there were spells in place to eavesdrop on students or to simply make anyone who walked these halls uneasy. They were working, that was to be sure.

Snape paused before the final stairway. "I am required to check up on you every few weeks because of the state of your injuries and your woeful ignorance. Hopefully, the school will mend some of that. But some people simply don't have the ability to change their ways. For those, there are rehabilitations." His eyes flared, and she wasn't about to ask what these "rehabilitations" were. "But, it is best to avoid that unpleasant outcome. Perhaps you'll surprise me."

If the words were sincere, his voice certainly didn't suggest it. All the same, Ginny supposed he was trying to warn her. Or maybe he was just doing his job. Which was practically the same thing…

"What do I do?" Ginny asked, suddenly aware of the overpowering sense to run away from this dark and towering place.

"You will be told what to do by the professors. Respect them, and do not expect the same courtesy towards you." His eyes lifted as he said, "They're always watching…"

Unable to resist, Ginny looked behind her, almost expecting to find someone peering over her shoulder. There was nothing and no one, which was probably why Snape chose this particular place to have this conversation.

She looked back quickly, angry that she had revealed her uneasiness to Snape. Glancing back at his stoic expression, all anger faded, replaced by fear. She became aware that she was trembling, and not from the lack of heat.

Staring her in the eyes, Snape gestured forward, and slowly, Ginny complied, leading herself into the trap they had set for her. She supposed she was being a little overdramatic, but that was what it was. A million paths to failure lay in front of her. Only one thin path to success wound out from the various deathtraps, but it became invisible, indistinguishable in the maze of failures.

The door she pushed open was light, but the force it took left her weak and vulnerable as she faced the vast, uncontained hall. Ahead of her, she saw four tables, all perfectly aligned vertically from the main entrance. Hundreds of students of all ages and sizes sat, consuming their supper. The sounds of utensils clinking on plates filled the air, yet no one spoke a word. Among such a crowd, the silence was eerie; was silence all that existed here?

Ginny noticed the similarities in their clothing- everyone wore the same robe as her, emerald and silver. Even the hair styles were similar. She reached out to touch her own hair, noticing that it matched the cropped fashion of the students. She wondered if she had always worn it this way before or if it was new. She had never liked long hair, as it always got in the way of her work, and why would the hospital give her a haircut anyway? At the thought of hair, she recalled the factory machines, harsh and grinding. No one cared what got caught in wheels, be it hair or flesh, so long as there was no mess. More than one girl had met their demise in this way.

Movement down the aisles caught Ginny's eyes, and she noticed two more guards striding up and down the room, watching for disobedient students. Ginny wondered what they did to those who spoke. Probably nothing good.

Shuddering, Ginny turned towards the dais, where another long table sat perpendicular to the students' table. This, she was certain, was the staff's table, where the various professors dined in equal silence. A few of them seemed prominent, haughty of their status, where most were withdrawn, lifeless servants. There seemed little variety in their faces, all pale, all frowning, from the trembling old woman at the far end to the thin-faced, mustached man somewhere on the left side. Ginny figured they were ordered by rank and deduced that the woman seated in the center was the headmistress.

Snape prodded her forward before she could stare too closely, and reluctantly, Ginny marched towards the dais. Out of the corner of her eye, she was aware that students all around were staring at her, still not speaking. She wanted to shout at them to mind their own business. Instead, she curled her fists and restrained herself. Behind her, Snape grunted in what might have been approval.

She also noticed that the guards cuffed the students who looked up at her. The cold part of her noted with satisfaction that they were getting what they deserved. The other part despaired at this thought, wondering how much further this could go.

She began looking at the faces, indirectly of course, studying them and wondering if by some miracle she knew anyone down there. One older boy with hair so blonde it must have been bleached barely raised his head. Noticing her watching, he sneered, turning back to his food. Frowning, she decided that she didn't like him and scanned the crowd elsewhere. There was a gangly boy, seemingly determined to stare at his food so not to be punished. A blonde girl bravely turned her head, her eyes meeting Ginny's, yet she seemed distant. Before the guard slapped her, she smiled slightly, and Ginny remembered the girl from the vision who looked eerily like this girl.

One face above all stood out. He hadn't looked up at first, but seeing everyone else's sudden movement, he extended his head upwards, his hand raised slightly, shadowing his face as not to be noticed. He was tall and didn't need to look far before he spotted the magnet to everyone's attention. His jaw dropped open, displaying the half-chewed potatoes he had been in the midst of consuming, and his fork slipped out of his hands, bouncing a few times before settling on the edge of the plate. His lips moved, murmuring a word that even at this distance, Ginny knew.

"_Ginny._"

Breaking the stare, a guard cuffed Ron hard, and he abruptly lowered his head, ashamed yet astonished. Ginny was equally astounded and realized that she too had been frozen in place. Hurrying her pace in order to remain in front of Snape, she remembered that she had never asked what had happened to Ron, assuming that he had been murdered. Snape hadn't bothered correcting her assumption, and she found herself angry again. She controlled it by staring at the ceiling, giving a start when she realized that it was not even a ceiling but a perfect image of the night sky. Every star was in place, but a grey mist obscured her vision, making the minuscule orbs, as always, beyond her reach.

She nearly tripped over the dais because of her staring. Managing to catch herself, she was still unable to keep from stumbling, an action that did not go unnoticed by several of the professors, who were evidently as curious as the students, though in a much less apparent way. They didn't have to fear punishment, yet they eyed her wearily, as if thinking, "Oh, wonderful. Another ignorant brat to push around." They all looked away when she met their gaze, save for the trembling old woman whose almond eyes held fatigue, yet not the greed or vigor of the others'. She seemed weathered, unable to fight the flow, and yet she was here. Perhaps she dared Ginny to do better. At that thought, it was Ginny who broke contact, staring instead at the short woman seated in the tallest, most elaborate chair.

Pushing her plate away, the woman, presumably the headmistress, cleared her throat loudly, Ginny wincing at the horrible sound or perhaps at the vague, unsettling impression it stirred up inside her.

"Well," the woman squeaked in a rather high-pitched tone, "now what do we have here?" As Ginny's eyes dilated with dread, the woman leaned forward. "What have you done?"

**

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Think you know who the woman is? Review! The more reviews, the sooner you'll find out!


	8. Call Me Harry

**Disclaimer: **If wishes were horses… then I'd have a lot of horses. Either that or be sucked into a deadly alternate universe.

**Notes: **I really have no excuse… at least it's long. Care to thank me with a review (which will hopefully speed up updates, plus vacation when it finally comes)?

The first word that came to Ginny's mind was "toad." To anyone else, this would have been a completely random and seemingly crazy thought (which weren't too rare when it came to her), as she was not fishing at a pond with toads, nor in the presence of toads. Or, at least, not in the physical sense.

The woman who sat in front of her- or rather, had sat as she was now rising from her chair- was not a toad, although she had several rather toad-like qualities about her. Petite with a rounded face, the woman was decked in pink clothing that did nothing for her already pink complexion. Her smile displayed a certain sweetness, the sweetness of a person who puts more sugar in their tea than actual tea. An artificial sweetness, to be sure, like the artificial sugar, powdery and dense at the surface but meager and sickening at the taste.

The analogies, as strange as they were, spoke true: this woman was not be trusted.

Then again, who could be? Ginny didn't even trust herself, not enough to answer.

"Done?" she asked softly, trembling for some reason. Despite the complaints people had that pink was a girly color, this woman somehow intimidated her more than any of the other more solemnly garbed professors could. "I've done nothing."

"Oh, child, that is precisely the point," the woman tsked. "So ignorant and afraid. So young."

"I'm sixteen," Ginny recited with conviction. She hated being called young, or a child. Children were the ones too young to grasp the dangers of the world. There was a difference between a child and a girl, perhaps trapped in the perils and too defenseless to fight, yet who understood the darkness which surrounded her.

"Perhaps not so young," the woman corrected, but not in a kind way. She glared down at Ginny, which Ginny almost found humorous. The woman was so short that Ginny was almost taller than her, even with the woman at the highest point of the dais. "Which only makes it worse for you in your situation."

She sighed dramatically. "Sixteen years, hiding away like a band of brigands, thriving on the darkness. Uneducated, wasting away life. The sow of English pride. Yet, in the end, justice always prevails, and the band falls." The woman sniffed. "And all that's left is brought forth. I suppose you think this is some punishment."

The woman was trying to make her angry. Ginny refused to go along. "No, ma'am. This is a gift. They don't call the Dark Lord merciful for nothing." She sincerely hoped that no sarcasm had accidentally dripped through her words.

The woman seemed genuinely surprised. "Overseer, you have taught her well. But- no offense intended towards the overseer's skill- those are just words. Such a dirty creature cannot possibly be tamed so quickly." The woman leaned forward. "Tell me how you really feel."

Ginny noticed Snape stiffen beside her. For some reason, she got the feeling that she was being mocked by the woman, and Snape was being insulted. She really couldn't care less about the second one. Still, she answered in a way to thwart the woman's tactics. "I cannot be told."

"Oh?"

"Only shown," Ginny answered. Through what, she left up to the woman's imagination.

"I see," the woman replied. "And you will have to. Only those who excel survive; those who live merely to live tend to fade into the background, very much unnoticed."

The way she said it made it sound like a terrible thing. Ginny was unsure what to make of it. Attention was bad, yet being unnoticed was terrible. How to live in this society?

The woman sat back. "Perhaps you'll make it. More likely that you won't. Either way, you'll have lost. It's just a matter of time."

She shooed Ginny away with the back of her hand. "Go, sit in section three, one of the empty seats. See how long it'll stay full."

Grudgingly, Ginny moved to obey. Snape made to follow, but the woman placed a hand on his shoulder. "Overseer, what's the hurry? Do you have other, more important responsibilities to go to?" After a second, she laughed. "But, of course not. Silly me, why would the Dark Lord choose to favor you over more competent, more loyal citizens such as me?"

"I am not certain competency was included in the requirements," Snape stated.

"Another person might think you were meaning to insult me," the woman threatened, yet she was smiling. It haunted Ginny. As much as she despised Snape, this woman was worse, somehow. Ginny wasn't quite sure why yet but didn't particularly want to find out. She suspected she would.

"Yes, someone able to think might…"

Ginny's eyes widened, as did the woman's, Ginny's in astonishment, the woman's in rage. Had she really heard Snape say that? It seemed more like something she would say, which tended to be the exact opposite of anything he would. Were they more alike than she had originally thought?

She certainly hoped not. For her sanity.

The woman's fists clenched the table, and for a second, Ginny was certain she would strike Snape down. But, after a tense moment, her fingers relaxed, releasing the table.

"Yes, someone able to think might," she agreed. "Clearly not you."

"Of course," Snape gritted.

"Well, child? What are you waiting for?" the woman rushed her along.

Ginny didn't move. "I don't believe I caught your name." And then, the answer came to her, "Dolores Umbridge."

Umbridge glared at Snape. "That would be 'Headmistress Umbridge.'"

Clearly, she thought Snape had informed Ginny about her. Snape, on the other hand, glanced at Ginny, who shrugged. Let them wonder. Let them argue pointlessly. She turned, walking silently to her seat, taking the first one available.

Unfortunately, she realized as she turned, that happened to be the seat next to the blonde boy, who sneered, sliding away from her. Ginny considered moving but decided that would give him the power and instead glared back before realizing that in staying, she would probably have to sit next to him every meal, a torment she was not relishing. But it was too late to change seats now; besides, the only person she had any desire to sit next to was Ron, and he was surrounded by people on every side.

Ginny sighed, reaching for the food in the center, only to realize it had all vanished. She heard the blonde boy stifle a snicker. Looking up, she noticed Umbridge had risen once more, her annoying cough quieting all noise- not that there had been much anyway.

She gazed pointedly at several faces, lingering on Ginny's before raising her arm. In one motion, the students rose, Ginny a second later. They bowed to the headmistress, who nodded, evidently the signal to clear out. The students gathered into lines and marched out, Ginny feeling clearly out of place. She tried cutting into one line, but the participants glared at her, so she backed away, instead waiting until the end of the line had passed before joining.

Snape pulled her aside at the door, and she wasn't sure whether to be grateful or frustrated. Acquiring an irritated expression, she said, "What?"

"I'd suggest dropping the attitude now," Snape hissed. "Technically now that you're in Hogwarts, you're theirs to handle."

"Meaning I no longer have need of your assistance."

"Meaning I am no longer required to provide assistance," he clarified. "Don't fool yourself; you'll need lots of assistance. But don't expect to get any."

"Oh, you've been so much help to me, perhaps I should be begging for you to stay." Sarcasm laced her tone. She wondered why it was she felt comfortable being sarcastic around Snape, who could no doubt punish her in any way he wanted. Then she wondered how "comfortable" and "Snape" could possible exist in the same sentence.

"You should. But, it wouldn't do you any good." He sighed. "There are flaws with this system; often, it's the ones who don't deserve it who survive. The noble ones get torn down quickly; the meek retreat until there's nothing left. There is no love here; it died long ago." He paused, staring to her eyes. She shifted, uncomfortable. "But, maybe, you can make it."

Ginny wasn't sure what to say to that. She could make some bitter statement, or she could be sullen. She could take it at face value, or she could assume he as well was mocking her. She decided to say nothing, only nod and turn away, following the last group of students.

"And…" Ginny turned before he added, "049G-W1367?"

At the name (or lack there of), she thought of turning around again, but he was looking at her like this was important.

Snape held out his hand, thick roll of parchment folded in it. "I've managed to compile a general list of rules here at Hogwarts, the rules of inquisition. And here's you schedule. As for a map, you'll have to find one on your own."

She nodded, taking them. "Thank you."

He grunted, walking away, and she did as well, in the opposite direction, where she assumed was the place students slept.

***

Hoped was probably a better word. As she had been talking to Snape, the students had marched ahead, leaving Ginny to guess which direction they had gone. Now, at an undetermined time and several floors later, she finally gave in and declared herself completely and utterly lost. She didn't know the punishment for this, but knowing her luck, it was probably ridiculous and painful (and ridiculously painful, painfully ridiculous, etc. She really didn't have anything better to do with her time, did she?)

Sighing, Ginny huddled by one of the dim torches that lined the walls and unfolded one of the papers Snape had given her, glancing at its detailed contents:

_Rules of Inquisition:_

_As a respectable and civilized school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has a strictly enforced code that all students, no matter of class, are required to follow. If violated, punishments will be severe._

Care to vague that up a bit? Ginny thought as the list toppled down, the rules listed in a tiny font that would take a magnifying glass to read. Squinting, she made out the first one:

_Rule of Inquisition Number One: Obey without question. Disobedience will be punished to the highest extent, and offenders will be exterminated._

And this was supposed to be a dignified school?

_Rule of Inquisition Number Two: The Dark Lord casts a shadow above all; respect his name and rule._

_Rule of Inquisition Number Three: No student groupings of more than three students are allowed at a time, and this time does not include class time, meal time, study hall, night time, or any other time the school sees fit._

The rest were just as intelligently worded in such a stupid way; half of them could be summarized in three words: obey or die. And when the wording lacked in stupidity, the rules certainly didn't. No exploding firecrackers in the showers? All homework assignments must have a margin of exactly 2.5 centimeters?

The most idiotic one by far was, "No public nudity in public." Ginny doubted that anyone had ever tried it at Hogwarts- Fred had never attended Hogwarts, after all. And then there was the obvious part.

She had half a mind to burn it. The torch was right there after all; maybe she could even find some way to set the castle on fire. She'd never make it, of course, but maybe the Umbridge lady wouldn't either.

It was just as stupid as the rules of inquisition. Still, it never hurt to dream.

No, Ginny thought bitterly. Dreaming only hurts. Waking up from some fantasy to find the world hadn't changed in the slightest was in no way satisfying. Despair was ever more painful than any physical wound.

She sighed, crumpling the parchment into a tight ball and chucking it against the wall, wishing it was someone else's head. Probably Umbridge's- Ginny had only known her for a few minutes and was already certain that she loathed the woman.

In a sudden fit of rage, she reached for the crumpled parchment and hurled it as far as she could like it was one of the gnomes that had nested in their garden… what garden? They hadn't had a garden, had they?

Like anything would grow for me, she thought bitterly, and retreated in her own mind, she nearly missed the hissed, "Ow!" in the darkness of the corridor.

She froze, undecided between swearing and staying as quiet as possible in hopes that she would be unnoticed. Of course, seeing as she was standing directly in the torchlight, and it was the intruder who lingered in the darkness, she sincerely doubted that would be the case. After staring at the shadows, Ginny compromised, neither swearing nor staying quiet, instead running… running for her life.

"Wait!" the person called after her, and she thought she heard footsteps storming after her- of course, as in most stories, it could have been her own footsteps echoing in the hopefully empty corridors.

"Yeah, so you can come hang me by my thumbs from the ceiling?" Ginny retorted, her own voice reverberating against the brick walls. That added to her theory of over imagination and echoing footsteps. Of course, her retort had probably alerted the stranger, meaning that he was still following her…

She dashed through the first open door, swinging it shut and holding her breath. Somehow, that whole holding breath concept seemed to have escaped her because there was a rapid panting sound being emitted. She tried to tell herself to quit it, or the stranger would hear. That was, she tried until she was forced to take a breath and realized suddenly that it wasn't her with the rabid panting.

Eyes widened, Ginny turned slowly to turn face to face- to face to face- with possibly the ugliest pug she had ever seen. No, not possibly- the ugliest. But, she wasn't exactly focusing on the ugly part. More the three-headed part, and those three heads' sharp and pointy teeth, bared towards her and her single head complete with in-no-way piercing teeth. In other words…

"Damn," she whispered, before screaming. She wouldn't describe it as screaming her head off- she wasn't a big screamer, more of a short screech person. Besides, the ripping head off part was the dog's (or was it considered dogs'?) job.

She reached for the door, thrusting it open and shoving it closed as the dog's (she decided it was one dog with three heads) heads charged after her, one of them drooling slightly, the others baring their teeth.

She didn't stop there, taking a single breath before bounding away in the opposite direction. As she turned the corner, she nearly ran into a figure, the same stranger as before, she assumed. Both stood, frozen for a moment before the figure grabbed her hand. Ginny winced, expecting to be dragged off to some detention cell where the tortures of Hogwarts would begin- Snape had been wrong, she'd hardly survived a few hours at the school.

To her surprise, the figure hissed, "Come on, they'll be coming!" before pulling her along, his gloved hand in hers. Mildly startled, Ginny followed her instinct to obey, though she had no reason to trust this man/boy. In the dark, his features were indistinguishable, especially since he wore all black, even a ski mask to cover his face and hair. By his shadow and long stride, she knew he was tall, though he seemed young, maybe a year or so older than her. A student, she guessed, not that that narrowed down her options much.

The stranger pulled her into a spare room, or so she assumed- it was empty of people, and that was really all that mattered.

Ginny had time to breathe for a moment. But just one moment before the gloved hand clasped her shoulder, whirling her around, and a cool voice hissed, "Are you crazy?"

She squinted, trying to make out any features of the stranger's face in the dark, but everything was black except for his glowing sapphire eyes, which held a variety of emotions that Ginny could only guess at.

"Well, that's been a popular debate," Ginny snapped bitterly, unsure whether to be grateful that the stranger had known where the heck he was going or irritated that he felt free to whisk her away to some godforsaken supply room. "Is it crazy to be utterly and entirely confused by a strangely organized and controlled society led by some sadistic bozo who's made it his goal to exterminate his own citizens and live my life for me?"

"You've got it wrong. The society's straightforward; the bozo is crazy."

She opened her mouth to disagree before stopping. He had called Voldemort a bozo. That meant he disapproved of the society, or at least Voldemort…

"You're a resistance fighter." It was simply a fact.

His eyes pierced her, and although she was tempted to squirm under his gaze, she stood her ground, in the literal sense at least.

At last, his lips open, but instead of an accusation or denial, he questioned, "How do you figure that?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but he interrupted, "Never mind, I don't want to know."

"But you are, aren't you?"

His eyes danced, as if he found the conversation amusing. "Perhaps," the boy said, swinging around her, "or, perhaps not. Perhaps I'm always here, stalking the hallways, looking out for those poor souls who enjoy infuriating three-headed dogs… a guardian angel."

"You're not."

"Oh?" he teased. He was definitely enjoying this whole "man of mystery" concept.

Ginny, on the other hand, wasn't. "Angels don't exist, and if they did, they wouldn't waste their time stalking girls and wearing black brigand outfits."

The stranger shrugged. "Maybe I clash with everything else."

"Well, I'd be able to determine that better if you'd remove your mask," Ginny suggested, irritated, reaching for his mask.

He caught her arm mid-reach. "Hey, you wouldn't want to upset your guardian angel, would you?"

"You're not my guardian angel," Ginny gritted. "Angels don't exist here."

The stranger cocked his head to the right slightly, as if in thought. "Yeah, I suppose so. No angels here. Plenty of demons though."

"Is there a reason you're staring at me as you say that?" Ginny questioned with a glare.

"Probably," the boy answered. "Oh, come on, enough with the pout, we both know you're as intrigued by me as I am you."

"I most certainly am… hey! You are not in… is that supposed to be an insult or compliment?"

"You most certainly are intrigued with me, huh," the boy smiled at her unfinished thought. "And, you'll have to answer that last question."

"What, your cryptic nature won't allow it?"

"Either that or my ego."

"Okay, that was an insult."

"Or an attempt at lightening you up. You're so stiff, like someone's got…"

"Please don't finish that sentence."

"I won't." He seemed to study her, his eyes never leaving her. Unable to take much more silent examination, Ginny finally burst out, "What am I, a painting? A zoo animal? An alien?"

"Definitely a fair painting by an artist with flair," the stranger listed. "An untamed animal in a cage it can't escape from. And an alien to society."

Ginny opened her mouth to reply but found no words. How was she supposed to respond, with rage? With agreement? With silence?

She chose silence.

"You, Ginny Weasley, are a puzzle. Sparking many rumors- not that you'd have time to hear them, or come to think of it, that they can be heard."

"What, too shocking?"

"Let's just say that a typical dinner table conversation involves lots of coughs, gurgles, and tapping on the table."

"So you are a student."

"Did I say I was at the table?"

"You can't be old enough to have a job or anything."

"People wither young in this society," the stranger said, sadness in his eyes. "Most don't survive youth. Only the purebloods or the ones who go into hiding."

"You?" she questioned.

"Yeah," he answered casually. It was only later that she realized he hadn't said which one. "But, you're interrupting my brilliant metaphor."

"The puzzle one?" she questioned. "That's age-old, you know."

"I've got an ego, you know."

"Sure, 'Man of Mystery and Cryptic Advice.'"

"MOMACA… nah, doesn't fit me. Anyway, back to the…"

"I'm a puzzle, lots of pieces you're determined to fit together, all that nonsense."

"Wrong. You're a puzzle, but not to me."

"Oh, so you claim to know me?"

"Better than you know yourself."

She started to argue before entertaining the possibility that it may be true. "Maybe. But how would you know?"

"Know you, or that you don't know yourself?"

"Both."

"Well, there's a certain way you hold yourself that invites other people to come and take you over, tell you what to do. You don't show confidence." He held his hand up before she could interrupt. "I didn't say you didn't have confidence, just that you didn't show it. But your eyes, there's fire in you."

It was getting to be a theme, her silence. One she hated with a passion. So, instead, she changed the subject. "What's the resistance like? Are you even making a difference?"

She expected him to revert to cryptic mode. She was surprised when he returned her silence, walking over to the wall, resting against it.

"Honestly? I have no idea. Not nearly enough. Not enough to change anything."

"Then, there's no hope?"

"I suppose I'm supposed to say that there's always hope. But, I can't. Because there's not. There's just us, ragtag brigands who stalk the hallways of dark castles. That and a society we have no way of changing."

He was a man of mystery indeed. Everything about him surprised her, whether he meant it to or not.

"But, there's got to be some way," Ginny stated, prodding him on.

"There isn't. He's unbeatable- can't even say his name without him knowing."

"You of all people, saying that… you're everyone's only hope."

"When you're everyone's only hope, who's left for you to hope for?" he posed. "Who can you blame for your failures? Who can carry the weight of the world when you can't?"

He pounded his fist against the wall in anger, his fist breaking through. "Damn." Bracing himself, the boy struggled to release his fist unsuccessfully. He gritted his teeth, a growl emanating as he progressed, louder as his failure became even more evident. After a few moments, he threw his free arm up. "That's it, I'm stuck." He paused, staring off into the distance. "And there's no one to turn to to release me."

Normally, being excluded in such a statement would have angered Ginny, but not this time. She walked forward and, gently, slid it out of the wall. The glove slipped off his hand, falling between the wallboards and leaving his blood-stained hand bare. His skin was oddly cold, or maybe that was her.

"There's me."

For a moment, their eyes met, and the stranger smiled, but it turned into a desperate laugh. "Society's going to bits, but we've got a crazed teenage girl here to avert the danger, no worries people. God save us, if you ever existed…"

The last bit was muttered, but Ginny heard it just as clear as the rest. She whipped her hand back. "Being a sullen idiot isn't going to do anything, so you may as well just lie down to die if that's how you're planning on defeating Vol… him, Taboo Guy, whatever."

The boy grinned, though at her or some mysterious internal thought, she was unsure. "Glad you know that. Maybe I will someday, if it comes to that. I'd die before I let him control me like a puppet with strings. I've had enough people trying to pull my strings already. And I've learned."

"Learned what?" she questioned.

He shrugged. "Whatever it is I was supposed to. Whatever noble heroes realize before their final sacrificial attempt to defeat evil. Of course, I'm no hero."

His words were oddly reminiscent of Snape. "Oh?"

He glanced at her skeptically. "There's no one who can rightly call himself a hero, or at least, not in this world. We've all done something wrong or another. We're all fighting some battle, and who's to say the opponent isn't right?"

"Volde…"

"Taboo Guy!"

"Isn't…" Ginny finished. "Maybe there are worse things in the world. Maybe no one's right. But at least he isn't."

"Yeah, well, he doesn't seem to think so, and his is the only opinion that matters," the stranger said, taking a step away.

"Then why does the resistance exist?"

The boy laughed dryly. "It's a joke, some sick joke. We're all going to die someday or another. I suppose we just want to fool ourselves that we're not dying under him." He glanced around. "As pleasant as this conversation's been… actually, I'm not going to bother lying, this conversation wasn't very pleasant, but that doesn't change the fact I have to go. Got other things to do. Beasts to conquer. Girls to stalk."

"Why is the dog…?"

"Sorry, can't answer that because I don't rightly know," the boy rushed as he began scurrying away. "I can guess, but…" he paused.

"But what?"

"I'd like to see you try." He began to turn to escape into the shadows like all of the other men in those tales.

"Wait!" she called.

With a sigh, he turned to face her, an irritated expression on his otherwise faceless face. "What?"

At his glance, she was almost embarrassed to ask, but her desperation drove her forth to lower her dignity. "Um, I'm kind of…"

"Lost?"

"Yeah."

He muttered something about bad protocol and shotty preparation- or maybe it was another word, one that Mum had always scolded her about… except her mother had been dead long before she had ever learned that word, so Ginny figured she was just going crazy again. This time, she skipped the dramatics about her memory, keeping with the simple explanation, I was in a coma for a year, of course I have some false memories.

During her period of deep thought, though it had taken only a moment, the stranger had approached and was now holding out a parchment to her. Somewhat hesitant, she took it, figuring it was some map. Unfolding it, she growled as it revealed a useless blank sheet of stained parchment. "This isn't funny…"

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

"Yeah, I figured that… holy Merlin's baggy left whatever!"

"That's lame."

"Shut up," Ginny ordered, her eyes widening at the trails of ink expanding across the formerly spotless map, forming vaguely recognizable landmarks, towers, statues, staircases, basically everything in the entire castle.

"Don't you wish."

She didn't reply, still in awe. Seeing this, the boy continued, "Everything's labeled, it should be pretty easy to navigate. Handy too."

"What are these dots?" Ginny questioned, pointing at one of the moving… were they footprints? She squinted to make out the writing beside it.

"They're people."

"No way. That's impossible."

"Never say never."

"You just said it! And I said impossible, not never. And I hate that expression anyway."

"Me too, whoever made it up was probably loony…" He smiled slightly, as if experiencing some internal joke.

"So, people are really on this thing?"

"Yep. See? 'Professor Minerva McGonagall' is turning in her sleep. 'Blaise… I can't make out his last name, something with a 'Z'' is dead asleep- no, not actually dead. Probably snoring. "Headmistress Dolores Umbi- I mean, something that rhymes with 'ditch'- is, typically, awake and overseeing some of the punishments- remind me to tell you about those sometime…"

"Do I want to know?"

"The trick is never to know. Anyway, you get the point. Everyone in Hogwarts is on the map… uh, here, let me have that…" He pointed his wand at it. "Dissendium."

Immediately, the lines began to vanish, leaving Ginny astounded. Growing up without magic, even though she knew it existed, seeing it for real was something else.

"Always say it after use, you really wouldn't want anyone else seeing it."

"Except I'm not done with it. I still have to…"

"Wait until after I'm gone. They've got magic sensors in the school. They're mainly urban legendish, but some actually work to an extent. Of course…" He trailed off in thought.

"What?"

"How did you enter Hogwarts?"

"A side entrance, I think."

"Security checks?"

"None I could see."

"Watch more carefully next time. But, you'd see this."

"See what?"

"It's complicated…"

"Is everything with you?"

"Basically, they put this thing called 'Trace' on you… I don't think you've got it. You might though. I could be wrong."

"Let me guess, you're going to say, 'But I'm usually not.'"

"I like to think so. And now I have to go."

"Uh…" He waited. It was probably stupid, but she had to ask. "Do you know Harry?"

"Never heard of him," the boy answered. He must have seen her disappointment. "Why? Who is he?"

"If only I knew…" she sighed. "I have no idea." Another thought, perhaps provoked by the name. "What's your name?"

"Ha! And go against my cryptic nature? Hardly." He paused. "You can call me… Harry."

He paused only a moment to witness her expressionless face before turning one final time, and the shadows swallowed him.

She realized she truly knew nothing about him, yet he had seemed to know a lot about her. That was really becoming a recurring theme.

Sighing, she began to reopen the map before realizing she didn't have a wand to use.

Wonderful.

***

Somehow, she found her way to a room full of sleeping students. It was a large mess hall area minus the tables. There wasn't much in the way of decoration; each student dozed on a small cot a few inches away from each other.

It seemed that girls were separated from boys, but thankfully she had found the girls' hall- though, had it been the boys' hall, she probably would have settled for it.

She wondered why they weren't being monitored, as it seemed it was that way with everything. Then, she wondered if they actually were monitoring her, laughing at her behind her back. For once, she didn't actually care.

Ginny didn't even care that, with no cot set aside for her, she would have to sleep on the floor, probably hard and uncomfortable. She simply slumped on the ground, tucking the map carefully in her robes as if it were her most precious possession, which it probably was.

_Tomorrow…_ she began, falling asleep before the thought was done.

**

* * *

**

Fifteen pages, I deserve a review, don't I?


	9. Practice Wands, Magic Gone

**Disclaimer: **Even in my long absence, I still haven't been shifted into an alternate universe where I own Harry Potter (though some people might think I have for lack of updates.)

**Notes:** Okay, so… I really lacked motivation to write this basically, but it wasn't from lack of reviewers or people nagging me. (Since you guys are all awesome, I got the most reviews ever and hope to replicate that feat!) I guess you could call it Writer's Block. Or a break between seasons. If shows like "Glee" and "V" can leave us hanging for months on end, why can't fanfic writers? Of course, even they didn't take a year… and that's why I'm still a fan fic writer. But people review fanfics as well as TV shows, and unlike professional TV shows, I cherish my every review and will attempt to update accordingly… like every six months instead of a year. (That was sarcastic… I hope.)

Like all of those aforementioned sporadically brilliant television shows, I feel it necessary to recap: Ginny met a strange woman in the woods who granted her inadvertent wish that Harry never existed. (I kind of wish I could rewrite that part, since as a lot of you have pointed out, it's very OOC. Anyway, back on topic…) The wish sent her to a world where Death Eaters ransacked her house, killed all of her remaining family (except, seemingly, Ron), and left her in a year-long coma. Having just woken up, she has no memory of the world she truly belongs to, only flashes she's convinced are the result of her coma. After befriending a somewhat pro-Voldemort nurse named Justin, Snape (her overseer) leads her to Hogwarts (which results in an encounter with Dementors that unlocks a memory of a boy named Harry). Ginny is immediately marked as an outcast, with her only possible ally being a stranger- and anti-Voldemort activist- who cryptically goes by the pseudonym of "Harry." And now, the continuation:

_Her dreams were silver._

_She swam in strands of translucent swirls, wrapping around her body, tickling her cheeks and twisting in and out of her robes, which, oddly enough, had no trace of silver but gleamed a rich gold sheen._

_She was golden._

_She had always argued that, beneath her thick mop of red hair, were long, golden streaks._

_And so, when she swirled around, her dancing faltered, leaving her hanging, off-balance._

_A large gaping whole dominated the silver fog._

_And it was black._

***

She woke up, gasping, but at least she woke up.

On second thought, waking up was overrated, especially when it involved a loud screech that was supposed to be a bell, followed by lines of bustling girls. Organized chaos.

Unfortunately, all she knew was chaos.

"Um, excuse me, I'm…"

The largish girl sent her a glare that had the same power as "Bug off." Ginny shrank back as far as she could until the wall pressed against her back. She glanced at it warily, as if it might shout directions at her. Hardly knowing what magic could do, it seemed more than possible.

She could stand; maybe that was even making a stand, in this world.

This world? Her world.

If only her mysterious stalker- self-dubbed "Harry"- would come…

Except didn't she hate him?

No, she hadn't known him long enough to hate him. Of course, she hadn't known Voldemort at all, and she hated him to an inhuman degree, since he couldn't be human, after all.

Yep, she was just going to stand there…

Until some old lady in spectacles, who came out of nowhere, whisked her away, that is.

"Who…?" Ginny began.

"Who doesn't matter here." The old woman slowed her march. "Well, not much anyway. For people like you, on the other hand…"

"Like me?" Like her as in vanished from society for years on end? Or who had just awoken from a year-long coma? Or who were simply crazy and possibly schizophrenic? Of course, Harry technically existed now… unless that had been a conversation with herself, which, granted, seemed much more likely…

Or maybe it was something simple, like redheads.

"Blood traitors."

So redheads was close.

"They're so busy keeping an eye on you, they've forgotten about you completely," the old woman fumed. "Well, you've got robes?"

The sad thing was, Ginny actually had to check. "Yeah." _Green clashes with gold, _she noted. She couldn't let her dreams go, could she? Not unless she died. And living death counted.

The old woman led her to a supply closet. Reaching in, she withdrew a pack of items- a nightgown, a hair brush, a real map, unlike the useless bundle of parchments Harry had mystified her with, etc.- and shoved it towards Ginny.

"You'll also need-" the woman began, reaching into the closet as something fell from the upper shelves. Ginny caught it neatly in her hands before examining it.

A hat.

"You've seen better days," Ginny muttered under her breath.

She looked away, ready to hand it to the woman when she felt the hat twist in her hand. When she looked back, she found two sharp eyes staring back at her. "I have."

It was only appropriate to scream.

Concerned, the woman glanced back at her, shifting her spectacles. "Is something the matter?"

Sputtering, Ginny gestured to the hat, only to find it had gone limp in her hand. Where there had been eyes, two creases sat in what was an otherwise unimpressive hat.

Still, Ginny wasn't one to lie. "Yes."

The woman snorted wistfully, almost uncharacteristically. Weren't professors- since that was her likeliest profession- supposed to be hanging students from ceilings by their thumbs instead of dropping talking hats on them? "Well, anyone could tell you that."

Words poured out of Ginny's mouth. "Can I keep it?"

_Stupid_, she chided herself a moment later. People keep pet dogs, cats, fish. Pet rocks, even. But a pet hat?

Of course, not even she was questioning the fact that she was crazy.

"Normally, I'd say no," the woman answered. "But, then again, that hat is far from normal."

_We'll be twins in no time, _Ginny thought dryly, studying the hat disdainfully.

The woman lowered her voice. "I wouldn't recommend wearing it. Unless you're alone, of course. And at Hogwarts, they pride in no student being left behind."

Sarcasm hinted her tone. Ginny noticed she was clawing the sleeve of her robe with disgust. The green part.

"You're a teacher?"

"I was," the woman sighed. She straightened. "That is, I am a professor here." She didn't mention anything further about teaching.

Was there anyone who was happy here?

"You should get to breakfast." The woman interrupted her thoughts. "Or the food will all disappear, and I mean that quite literally." She gestured to a pamphlet. "That'll explain everything you need to know."

It was a lot for not being much. Ginny could sum it up in a few words: how not to be noticed. Or, in other words, how to survive.

Or, even, how to die. All the same thing. And all so different.

"Thanks," Ginny called to the woman.

The woman merely snorted. "You're welcome, but I wouldn't want to be."

***

Breakfast appeared to be one choice fits all: gruel. Nothing new, then.

The blonde boy made a show of pinching his nose and coughing as she took her seat. Ginny didn't care much, since his particular stench wasn't amorous either. She turned to tell him that, but he coughed loudly, earning him a smack from one of the overseers.

But his eyes spoke louder than words, and she remembered that speaking was a death sentence. Her eyes narrowed, but he merely smirked. So he was just being a regular wiseacre, priding in his knowledge over her.

He thought he was so smart. Though, for all she knew, he could be. It wouldn't surprise her; not that he looked smart, but he looked to be a survivor and acted one as well.

She met his sneer. Two could play that game.

Across the table, an amiable looking boy tapped his fork three times on his plate. Frowning, the girl beside him slid her cup a few inches to the left. The boy's gaze turned pointedly towards Ginny. The girl merely rolled her eyes and stabbed her gruel.

The boy seemed to agree.

How to say "I get the message?"

Ginny settled for stabbing her gruel as well; then, because she was starving, she swallowed half of it in a spoonful. The boy glanced at her with raised eyebrows.

In response, she downed her glass of water, which tasted bitterly of rust. The boy mimicked her with a shrug, perhaps wondering if she had any idea what she was saying.

The blonde boy slammed his cup on the table forcefully, and that ended the conversation. It was clear who the Alpha was here.

Ginny didn't meet his gaze, but she knew he was staring at her.

Let him stare. It meant she was worthy of attention.

Except wasn't that a bad thing?

***

One of the overseers pulled her aside before her first class, but after she succeeded in getting utterly and irreparably lost on the rotating staircases.

"Come," was all the woman said, so "come" was all Ginny did.

"You haven't got a name," the woman informed her brusquely as she entered an office-like setting. Papers overflowed from the rows of cabinets- like everything here, organized chaos.

"I've got a name," Ginny protested. Glancing at her arm, she added, "Two, actually."

"You have your ID," the woman replied, "though, whatever else you have, you'll do best to forget. But you don't have your name."

Ginny stared at her blankly. "So, what's my name, and does it start with a number?"

"I suppose Overseer Snape takes pride in a job well done," the woman sniffed. "Each student at Hogwarts is assigned a name in addition to an ID for pronunciation purposes." She shifted her eyes to a folder on the desk. "049G-W1367 doesn't quite roll off the tongue."

"It rolled off his," Ginny replied snidely.

"People like Snape are not appreciated here," the woman warned, leaving Ginny puzzled at the possible double meaning.

Like Snape? Even more bizarre, for a moment, Ginny was actually proud. Only a moment. Less than she normally lost her mind for.

"You'll be…" The woman studied her intensely, then glanced back at her folder. "Ginny."

Ginny burst into laughter, disbelieving and callous. "Ginny? Are you serious?"

"Because," the woman replied disdainfully, "Ginny was the next name on the list. Ginevra, actually, but you'll thank me later for making it more appropriate."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, wondering if the woman was playing with her. Erasing her personality by pretending her new self existed all along. "Ginny is my name."

The woman seemed surprised. Also, mildly relieved. "Exactly."

"No, Ginny's _my _name." The woman stared at her blankly, likely and validly wondering how sane this girl was. Sighing, Ginny decided to drop the matter; it wasn't as if she'd have much trouble fitting into "Ginny's" shoes. Though, only in the literal sense. "Ginny it is then," she stated tastelessly. "Will that be all?"

"No," the woman replied. "Despite… medical reasons, our faculty has seen it fit to supply you with a practice wand." The way she said "medical" most certainly translated to "genetic."

"Practice wand?"

"Limited abilities. Locked up at night. All beginning students use one."

"I've never used a wand before." Though, hadn't she?

_Yeah, _Ginny thought dryly, _I'll tell her that. "I used a wand while I was in my coma, and I blew the school up with it. Say, I knew you looked familiar!"_

Then there were the Dementors, which Snape must have neglected to mention. If she mentioned it now, she'd only get him in trouble.

Like she cared?

"And that's the only reason you're using it now," the woman replied, handing Ginny a plain-looking stick. It didn't feel special, but all the real magic was gone regardless, and it couldn't be brought back with a wand. "You've been placed in first year classes for the most part, except in Fitness and Potions. With any luck, you'll be a natural." The woman glared. "But not too natural."

Ginny ignored the threat. "And what should I call you?"

The woman laughed, which seemed to have the inverse effect on Ginny. "With any luck, you won't."

***

Transfiguration. Charms. Fitness. Herbology. Lunch. Defense. Dark Arts. Potions. Study Hall. Even a short period of free time before bed. Free in a locked room, surrounded by all sides with overseers and "protection charms." A bland, standardized schedule.

Ginny was a giant among the first years, but they all talked the same when class came around. That is to say, they didn't talk.

Her only delight was that Transfiguration turned out to be taught by the old woman in spectacles, yet she showed no recognition towards Ginny. Ignoring Ginny's late intrusion into the class, she continued with her bland lecture, having lost all of her former liveliness. Ginny saw what the woman meant by her "teaching" method. She read from a book; she taught them about how others had failed in transfiguration and what not to do, but by the end, Ginny hadn't the slightest bit of an idea what Transfiguration was about.

To her comfort- or perhaps chagrin- none of the other first years displayed any level of understanding either, and they'd been here months longer than she had.

In fact, the only new bit of information she had received was the teacher's name: Minerva McGonagall. Though, whether that was her name or her alibi, Ginny wasn't sure.

The other classes were just as uneventful and unenlightening. Fitness was comforting, but only because it made her feel anything at all. Exhaustion, in this case, as they endured laps around a dingy courtyard, closed on all sides. At least she wasn't taller than everyone else anymore; the blonde boy was there, though he may have been older than her. A familiar blonde girl was there too, though Ginny couldn't name her. Still, the girl seemed to recognize her as well, rewarding her with an eerie smile Ginny couldn't return.

Dark Arts by far seemed the most involved class. Not only did it take a double class period, but the professor- Karkaroff?- actually performed some demonstrations, and the coursework seemed much more involved.

Ginny found she could even keep up with the curriculum in Potions, despite it being years ahead of her. Keep up, but not perform; her deskmate, unsurprisingly, the nameless blonde boy, wrinkled his nose at her attempt at a potion.

"Is something the matter, Draco?"

"She's melting her cauldron," the boy- Draco, why hadn't the woman bothered correcting that name?- sneered.

The professor, a jolly looking plump man who looked years older than he should, peered at the mess emotionlessly. "Yes, well, next time, just pretend to follow along," were his only instructions.

Everyone else worked in strange unison. Her brother shared a desk with the blonde girl, who seemed, with the exception of Draco and his snide superiority, the only person able to feel emotion in the room. There was an air about the girl that couldn't be dampened by darkness. Lights shone brighter in the dark, after all.

Study Hall came around with a book bag full of mindless homework. Peering at a random sheet, she found the answers printed in the back of the book.

Suddenly, Ginny had upmost confidence in her quality education. No wonder no one failed here; no one had to when everyone did.

***

Days blended together with the exceptions of rare moments. Mostly, those involved failures, and mostly, those involved Draco. She was in three of his classes now; McGonagall had deemed her bright enough to try an ordinary grade level course. Either that or it wouldn't make much of a difference in what she learned. She had yet to use a wand; until today, that is.

"In theory, the feathers should rise in the air." In theory. And theories only counted in science. "Now repeat after me: swish and flick."

Robotically, the class chanted the rhyme for five minutes straight, demonstrating the motion until their arms felt ready to fall off. Finally satisfied, Flitwick set them lose to fail and hid behind his stack of books.

"Swish and flick," Ginny mumbled. Not the real words, of course. She glanced in her book. Wingardium Leviosa. "You're never going to fly," she told her feather as she watched her classmates struggle to pronounce the word. "You're alone now, and you can't fly without your team." Softer, she added, "I can't fly."

Her deskmate looked at her as if she was- yes- crazy. Her glare in response told him, "Well, what did you expect?"

Instead, she informed him, "You're saying it wrong."

"Oh, yeah?" the boy scoffed. "And you think treating it like a pet's going to work much better?"

"I'm the pet," Ginny replied distantly. Still, she cleared her throat and prepared to assimilate herself into the class, mindless and careless. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The boy laughed at her imminent failure only to freeze as her feather fluttered on her desk before embarking on its quest through the air. Her reaction matched his, as did most of the class. Flitwick peered out from behind his book stack, nearly knocking several volumes over in his surprise.

"Who's is that?"

The boy nudged Ginny, but she found she didn't need to concentrate much to keep it in the air. She was the feather. Or she tried. "Mine, I guess."

"Have you done this before?"

Strangely, she almost answered yes. Just in time, she remembered, "No."

Noticing the gawking class, he ordered them back to their work, gesturing for her to follow him. She joined him behind the book stack.

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen." _I think._

"And you've never used a wand before?"

She shook her head, deciding to not appear more insane than she actually was. "Why?"

He mimicked her gesture. "It's just… these are practice wands. First year practice wands, to be specific."

"I know," Ginny stated impatiently.

"My dear- what did you say your name was?"

"Ginny."

"Ginny." He met her gaze. "They don't actually work."

"So they're setting us up to fail," poured out of Ginny's mouth, which she covered with her hands a moment later. Of all the intelligent questions she could have raised- was it just her, or did she seem to be getting more and more rebellious the more they oppressed her? Wasn't oppression supposed to do the opposite?

Figures that she'd be the exception. "I mean," she stammered, "they don't work?"

He shook his head.

"Well, there's some pretty hearty evidence to suggest they do." Ginny folded her arms defiantly. "Because it's not as if it just started to work by magic." Remembering exactly where she lived, she modified belatedly, "Or maybe it did."

"Let me see your wand." With a shrug, she surrendered it willingly. It wasn't really hers, after all.

After a thorough examination, he tested it out on a feather of his own. The feather faltered but, after a moment, stumbled a few feet in the air before dropping to the desk.

"See?" Ginny pointed out. "The wand's faulty. Not me."

"I'm not sure faulty's the word to describe you," Flitwick replied, studying her scrupulously.

"I've heard worse," she mumbled as the tone sounded. The other students filed out reluctantly, still trying to discern what might be going on behind the iron curtain of books. Sadly, it would probably be the highlight of the month. "Look, you can keep it- it's not like I use it anyway."

"Don't leave," he threatened.

"I can't," she shot back venomously.

Flitwick seemed startled for a moment before shrugging it off. "There's nothing wrong with the wand."

"But you just used it," she protested.

"The wand is still a wand," Flitwick explained. "That is to say, it's still got the basic components, just less of them. In fact, hardly any. A skilled magician, though, should still be able to perform basic spells."

"I'm not skilled."

Flitwick was staring again. "Well," he finally coughed, "to quote you, there's some pretty hearty evidence to suggest that you are."

"Not skilled," she agreed, but it was useless.

He grilled her with a few other questions, but the fact was clear. She'd done the impossible. And, even clearer, she had no idea what she'd just done.

**

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I'd really appreciate motivating reviews, and I know you'd appreciate an update before the world ends in 2012…**


	10. The Truth is a Lie

**Disclaimer: **I can say Harry Potter belongs to JK, and I can say Harry Potter begins to me (JK!), but I can't say Harry Potter belongs to me.

**Notes: **Okay, maybe I wasn't lying about the "updating every six months" part… but thanks for staying with me! Whenever Harry is in a scene that is not Ginny's imagination, it's actually "Harry" from chapter eight (though I'm not saying if "Harry" is actually Harry or not, nor am I saying whether he's in this chapter or not).

"How is this possible?" Umbridge squeaked. She was like a musical scale; the more notes played, the higher she got. She sipped her glass of wine before straightening herself pompously.

Higher, in several ways.

"What she's done isn't unique," Flitwick argued, his head barely reaching the tabletop. He gestured to the roomful of professors. "We can all access magic through the training wand." Spotting Umbridge's venomous glare, he amended sheepishly, "Well, most of us."

"What I want to know is _what has she done_?" Umbridge shrieked, followed by a fit of coughs.

"Well, I'll be it, we have something in common after all." Ginny didn't surrender herself to the simultaneous glares sent in her direction. The way she figured, either they were going to execute her or not. Whatever she said would hold as little weight as her presence here, since she seemed to be a mere placeholder in front of a makeshift witness stand.

"The wand is perfectly ordinary," McGonagall spoke up, neither in defense nor prosecution of the girl.

Prosecution was Umbridge's job. "Well, then the girl must not be!"

"There are certain… extenuating circumstances," the female overseer agreed. So she was more than a walking baby name book after all. "Her coma…"

"Of course," Umbridge interjected sarcastically. "If I was wasting public taxes in a comatose state for year, it would certainly have a profound effect on my magic."

"Well, we could test that," Ginny put simply.

"We could test the magic part," Umbridge shot back, pointing her wand at Ginny. "Silencio."

Ginny waited for the magic to take effect. When nothing happened, she decided to test her theory. "That's Spanish."

Umbridge shrieked once more. "When are any of you incompetent fools going to put your lack of brains together and fix my wand?"

"The wand is ordinary," McGonagall repeated, only this time, prosecution laced her tone.

"The the woman must not be," Ginny mumbled.

"Quiet!" Umbridge demanded, though it would have the same effect as her magic. "All of you!" She gestured to the female overseer. "Summon her overseer. Let's see what he has to say about this."

The female nodded obediently and took a fistful of white powder from a pot in the corner. After measuring it with her palm, she thrust it into the fireplace at the end of the room and shouted, "Severus Snape!"

A few moments passed before Ginny screamed.

Snape was burning alive.

She stopped quickly, half because of the professors who were staring at her like an idiot. Half because she figured she wouldn't care if Snape were burning alive, since he'd likely be burning in another place as soon as he died anyway.

And half because she realized he wasn't burning. Three halves to make a whole. Curious. But three heads were better than one.

Except for when it came to certain three-headed dogs, which lingered in her mind as surely as the elusive Harry. Both of them. Or could there be only one?

"You summoned me?" came Snape's bitter retort.

"Yes, we summoned you," Umbridge snapped impatiently, "not your head."

Snape's head seemed to shrug, if that were possible. Then, without a moment's hesitation, he stepped through the fireplace.

The first thing he saw was Ginny. The first thing he did was laugh. Ginny was certain the two were connected.

People did tend to have a sick sense of humor in this society.

"I'm not surprised," Snape managed. "What end of the world has she brought about already?"

_You, _Ginny thought literally.

The professors exchanged a weary glance.

"We were hoping you might tell us," McGonagall professed at last, extending Ginny's wand towards him. Curious, he took it. "What do you make of this wand?"

Snape glanced back at her skeptically. "I'm sorry to have failed your test, but I find nothing unsatisfactory or otherwise special about this wand."

"Exactly," Umbridge cut in. "Then would you care to explain how your charge single-handedly performed a perfect levitation spell with it?"

Snape straightened in surprise, quickly replaced by his usual detachment. "Last I checked, there wasn't a rule against levitating feathers."

"It's a practice wand," Umbridge hissed.

"Well, then," Snape replied, "perhaps she's ready to graduate to a real one."

"She must have been trained," Umbridge insisted. "At her home, she must have used a wand there." She glared at Snape. "Be assured, the Dark Lord will be informed of your negligence."

Snape merely laughed. "My negligence? More likely of your utter incompetence." He gestured towards Ginny, ignoring Umbridge's catlike hiss. "You want to know about her former magical training, then you've got the expert here."

"Forgive me," Umbrige replied in a tone that implied _don't_, "but an expert in a foolish girl's past is a lower profession than you've already got."

Snape stared her down. "I'm not the expert." He pointed snidely at Ginny. "Why don't you ask her?"

"She'll lie, of course."

"I don't need to lie," Ginny interjected.

"You won't be able to," Snape corrected, withdrawing a vial from his cloak. "Veritaserum, if such measures are truly necessary."

"What?" Ginny demanded, panicking.

"See?" Umbridge remarked snidely. "She's guilty."

"You can't poison me without proving it!"

"It's not a poison," Snape explained dryly. "It's a truth-telling potion."

"Well, which truth will it tell, the one you fear or the one you want?"

"There's only one truth." Then, without warning, Snape thrust the open vial into her mouth. Ginny choked, trying to expel the content, but Snape's hand flew over her mouth, which was viler than the potion. As always, there was no choice but to obey.

"Please note that everything you say can and will be used against you," Umbridge recited immediately, victorious fire in her eyes. "Have you, prior to today, used a wand out of class?"

Words truly were a weapon. "Yes." Worse than sticks and stones, they could always hurt you.

Umbridge shot out of her chair. "Aha! So she admits it!"

Ginny rolled her eyes, turning her head slightly towards Snape. He raised his eyebrows, as if professing his innocence.

"Okay," Ginny stated, since he wouldn't, "ask me whose wand I used."

Umbridge contemplated this for a moment before deciding that it would only incriminate Ginny further. "Whose wand did you use?"

She pointed at Snape. "His."

It was Snape's turn not to whither under Umbridge's gaze. "Overseer," she grit. "Is this true?"

"Unfortunately," he answered reluctantly. "Before you force me to join her on the-" He sneered. "-witness stand, allow me to explain."

"Please do."

"Dementors."

"Dementors," she repeated skeptically. "You're saying Dementors forced you to hand over your wand to her."

"Perhaps you'd like to explain what the Dementors were doing on the train in the first place," Snape countered, "since it was you who authorized their presence."

"Every student goes through security," Umbridge explained calmly.

Snape didn't respond at first, merely glancing away in an unnerving manner. "So I have been demoted to student?"

"I daresay, that would be a promotion," Umbridge shot back. She coughed several times. "Let's rephrase this- you didn't feel capable of defending against the Dementors, so you thought it a smart idea to let this slip of a girl try?"

"Perhaps you don't know what it's like to be kissed," Snape replied dryly in a manner that made Ginny certain he meant Umbridge to misinterpret his statement.

"Well, I don't suppose you have much more expertise in that regard."

Inexplicably, Snape looked away. Ginny didn't.

"But I don't suppose she had much success," Umbridge continued. "It takes a talented wizard to repel a Dementor." She glanced at Snape meaningfully.

Snape sighed. "Yes, Headmistress, I only did manage to repel the _seven _Dementors you sent to investigate our student." His eye twitched. "But not before she did."

If silence could fill a room, it did. So Ginny spoke. "I only held back one, and only for a few seconds."

"You made… a patronus?" McGonagall croaked.

"Impossible," Umbridge stated.

"I don't know what a patronus is," Ginny admitted. "But I can't lie." She closed her eyes and searched her memory. The near past, the only reliable past she had. "Expecto Patronum." She opened her eyes. "It looked like a bird."

The room was speechless once again. Snape eyed her warily, but for a brief instant, his eyes flashed with emotion. Maybe even pride. "Do you remember using a wand prior to our engagement with the Dementors?"

Did she remember? Well, there was lots of stuff she remembered. She'd touched her mum's wand, for instance. More like clawed it out of her stone cold hand. But no one else she knew had owned a wand. They were said to be traceable, and traceable was dangerous.

Then there was the stuff she didn't remember.

But Snape hadn't asked for that. "No," she answered honestly.

Only Umbridge managed to laugh. "She's lying."

"I'd like to," Ginny replied smoothly, surprising them all, but mostly Snape. "I'd like a simple explanation, because I hear that's the way to survive."

Snape gave her an imperceptible nod. There was another way to survive.

"How is this possible?" Umbridge repeated dejectedly.

"I have a theory." All eyes turned towards Snape.

"A theory?" Umbridge sneered.

"In science, a theory is an established and widely supported explanation," Ginny recited dispassionately.

"We'll see about the supported part."

"Had this been an ordinary student, the circumstances of conjuring a patronus would fall under near impossible," Snape began. "However, she is not exactly a normal student."

"I try to be," Ginny countered automatically, or she tried to before the words were choked in her throat. Hopefully, no one noticed the gargled slur that slipped out. The potion worked after all.

"Her coma was reportedly erratic; by most reports, she shouldn't have survived. But she did." He turned to gaze at her. "The Girl Who Lived." His eyes narrowed. "And perhaps she lived more than we thought she did."

"What do you mean?" Ginny and Umbridge demanded simultaneously. An instant later, both looked like they wanted to puke out of disgust at the unison.

"You were telling me about a memory before," Snape went on. Dread bubbled up in Ginny's chest. Not Harry… not now that she knew him, or a version of him, or someone pretending to be him, or someone she pretended to know, or someone she knew she pretended was a version of him, or…

"Remembering things and people that didn't exist," Snape continued.

_Except they do_, Ginny thought, but thankfully, it hadn't been posed in question format. "Yeah, I was telling you," she stated neutrally. "But I don't remember much. Just stuff that makes no sense. Stuff you'd expect from a coma patient."

"Well," Snape sounded, as if that arrested his case, "sounds quite similar to what we have on our hands now."

"You're saying she learned how to use a wand during a coma," Umbridge repeated skeptically. For once, Ginny was on her side.

"I'm saying she learned something." Snape turned once more. "Or perhaps she has yet to learn." He studied her intently. "I say we promote her to her grade level."

"Are you out of your mind?" Umbridge demanded.

"Well, I am," Ginny muttered cynically.

"Give her the chance to fail," Snape continued. "Glean what you can from her. Knowledge is power." He paused. "Or I remember a time when it was."

It must have been rather rebellious for him stating that so openly, Ginny judged by the gawks he received. Especially for someone like Snape. But, being Snape, he got away with it and covered himself in logic. "Hasn't she proved to be a model student thus far?"

"Too model."

"As headmistress, I'm fairly certain you have the power to change the dress code as you please."

"It's her power I worry about!" Umbrigde hissed.

"My power?" The words slipped out. "I can't do anything." That clearly wasn't the truth. But she wasn't able to lie, which must have meant she thought it to be the truth. Maybe that's what Snape had meant about her learning something. Meant unintentionally, of course, since at the surface, he undoubtedly was referring to magical skills that could be a wonderful contribution to the workforce.

"Clearly you can," Umbridge countered. "But what can you do?"

"I don't know." A truly honest answer.

Umbridge's eyes narrowed. "I could terminate you."

"And I could say something worthy of termination," Ginny replied, though she knew she was treading in dangerous ground. Snape's eyes only reiterated that, so she added, "Of course, that's not exactly plan A."

"Overseer?"

"I don't believe it's my call to make," Snape replied, "but whatever we do, I suggest we keep this quiet."

Umbrige raised her eyebrows. "How quiet are we talking?"

"Not talking at all, I should think."

Umbridge studied Ginny closely, looking for any sign of deception. Ginny made a show of looking guileless, though she'd only spoken the truth. Maybe that would be what saved her; for, for certain, Umbridge knew Ginny wasn't holding back anything. Maybe being outspoken was as good as being silent.

"Fine," Umbridge relented, though it felt like more of a death sentence. "What do they call you- Ginny?" At the name, Snape shot a glance at the girl before quickly turning away. It was what he was best at. "You're free of all charges." Umbridge's last words reverberated loudly. "But you're not free."

As the room continued arguing about minor details, Snape slipped closer to Ginny. Ginny gave him a quizzical look, but, for once, she wouldn't mind the overseer as opposed to the rest of the company. Still, a private conversation with Snape was out of the question, and evidently that was what he'd been trying for. So, instead, he settled with a less than enthusiastic, "I see you haven't gotten expelled yet."

"I wasn't trying to," she replied neutrally.

"You don't have to be." No one else was listening, so he continued, "You're going to have to be careful, if you're to survive."

"You always say that," she muttered irritably. "Why do you want me to survive?"

"I'm indifferent," he replied. "And you're different." He gave her a meaningful glance, which made her feel oddly naked.

"I hear that's a bad thing."

"It's both. They'll be more eager to kill you, but they'll have more need for you alive."

"Everyone dies sometime."

Snape looked away. "Some people die too soon."

Ginny remembered a name. Like everything, it slipped away. "Lily?"

Snape's fist came down on her in an instant. She fell back with a muffled cry, which, sad to say, didn't silence the room until several seconds had passed. For all the attention they were giving to her, they weren't actually paying her much attention.

"Overseer?" Umbridge didn't look terribly upset at the commotion. In fact, she seemed pleased at Snape's misstep.

"The veritaserum was making her drowsy," he explained calmly.

"Right," Ginny gargled, though no one heard her, since it obviously wasn't the truth. She glanced back at Snape, calm and composed as always. Well, she recalled. Not always.

So Lily had slipped away too. As Ginny did, once the meeting was done.

**

* * *

I'll try to put up the next chapter in two weeks. (Very ambitious, I know.)**


	11. You're Not Dead

**Disclaimer: **Is this really necessary?

**Notes: **Two weeks exactly! (That should not make me as happy as it does… but hopefully it makes you happy.)

They were so irrationally cautious when it came to her learning magic (which she was actually supposed to be doing), but when it came to walking through the hallways at night, they assumed she'd return to her dormroom like a good little girl.

Which she would. As soon as she could find it.

And she told herself she would have been able to find it, had they not blindfolded her while escorting her to the conference room. Not while leaving it, though, which made the entire affair pointless. No surprise there.

At least she had a permanent wand now, since the upperclassmen evidently actually used theirs. Not that it would do her much good, since it was only her measly training wand. Since she could obviously use her training wand, Umbridge reasoned, Ginny should do fine with it. The headmistress was setting her up to fail. With any luck, Ginny would. That would probably be the path of survival. Survival by death, that was. Living death, she meant, not survival as a martyr… God, so many ways to survive. And all ways to die.

"…come on, just this one favor…"

Ginny stopped abruptly (and, she hoped, silently). That voice… She couldn't pinpoint it, but it was certainly and eerily familiar. Well, eavesdropping was as good of a way as any to die.

"…It's not like you can die."

"Everyone can die," the other voice hissed, and for some reason, it seemed familiar too, though Ginny was certain she didn't recognize it.

"Well, you already have," the first voice put simply. "So it can't hurt."

"Why should I help _you_?"

"Put it this way," the first voice replied, "why would you help _them_?"

"Why do I have to help either?" The voice giggled mischievously.

"You're either on one side or the other," the first voice answered irritably. "Either the side that gave you the fashion sense of the Bloody Baron-" In the background, chains clinked as the first voice demonstrated his meaning. "-or the side where you choose the fashion sense. Even if it is cracked eggs on students' heads, or pants on fire, or…"

"Fine," the voice sneered. "But don't get any illusions I'm doing this for _you_."

"Are you kidding? You're doing it for all of us who can't." The first voice chuckled. "Give 'em hell from me, Peeves."

"Fine, but you're the one who'll be living in it." Without warning, the second voice- Peeves?- zipped around the corner, knocking Ginny against the wall and cackling for it. She couldn't quite describe him. He might have had tinted blue skin or been translucent- or he might have been perfectly ordinary, save for the chains that wrapped around his body. One thing was for sure: he wasn't the way he used to be.

Then again, who was?

"Student out of bed!" Peeves declared gleefully. "You're not safe."

"Peeves!" the voice came. "Who is it?"

Ginny ignored the voice, rather intrigued by this odd man-thing. "Of course I'm not safe. I'm at Hogwarts."

"…they needn't know it was me who sold you out…"

"Peeves!" the voice called again. Ginny felt a shadow pass over her. Turning, she found something darker than the shadow.

"Should have known it was you," she muttered to the figure in back.

"She's with me, Peeves." Harry glared at the creature. "And I wouldn't be so fast to sell her out. From what I hear, she's created more mischief than you have in just this month…"

"Not as much as you have, I take it," Ginny countered.

"You'd be surprised," Peeves replied dryly.

"I'd have been more successful if I hadn't spent the past two weeks tracking down you," Harry grumbled.

"You'll never be successful," Peeves sneered, gesturing at Harry. "Isn't that why you're wearing a mask?"

Harry looked away. "I least I can take mine off. Can you?"

Peeves hissed.

"Then show me!"

Peeves zoomed forwards, stopped near Ginny's ear. "Careful with him," he muttered, though Ginny was unsure he was offering genuine advice or merely making mischief. "We may both make mischief; but, difference is, you don't know what's behind his mask."

"Do you?" Ginny questioned as Harry grunted in irritation at being purposefully excluded.

Peeves eyes twinkled. Yes, at a literal level, he did know. But really… "Does anyone?"

Without hesitation, he zipped away, laughing faintly as he kicked up dust in his trail. Then, silence.

"What'd you ask him to do?" Ginny asked.

"Help me," Harry answered evasively, "which was probably a mistake."

"I'm not dumb you know," Ginny protested angrily.

"I know," he said coolly. "You're just uneducated."

"Not for long," Ginny vowed, recalling her promotion.

"Depends," Harry replied. "How long do you plan on going to school?"

"How long do you?" Ginny countered. He didn't answer. "You've got to be a student; you look like you're sixteen…"

"I'm seventeen!" he protested. "But I'm older than my age."

"You were born to be bad?" she suggested wryly.

Harry paused. "Yeah," he said slowly, "yeah, I think I was. Only, through the badness, I was bred to be good."

"You think what you're doing is good?"

He shrugged. "It's not what I'm supposed to be doing, so by all definitions, it's bad. But what I'm supposed to be doing…" He paused, leaving it hanging. "Well, I aim to misbehave."

"So you are a student?"

"Well, they teach me most when they don't know they are." Never a straight answer with him. Ginny sighed. He glanced at her and noticed the wand. "So, you've been promoted? You've got to be- it's the only reason they wouldn't have killed you, since you'd be a bad example to the underclassmen if you always succeeded."

"It's still a training wand," she explained.

"Even better. They can't trace those."

"What about your wand?"

"Well…" he hesitated. "I've got one of theirs, but…" He glanced around anxiously before pulling out another. "I made my own."

"You what?" she gawked incredulously. "How?"

"I'm not going brag- well, yeah I will- it was hard. It's not just a stick, you know." He examined hers. "Even yours."

"It's as good as," she sighed.

"You'll learn to use it."

"_Right_."

"Well, not from them." Harry handed her back the wand. "There's a phoenix in here, you know. At Hogwarts, I mean."

"Can't figure why."

"A good bird never leaves its master," Harry sighed wistfully, gazing up at the ceiling, as if he'd find it there.

"It's yours?" Ginny questioned, joining his gaze.

"Oh- no, not mine," he said quickly. "Belonged to a better man. He- the bird- mainly hides now, but occasionally, he'll come out for special people."

"For you?" she guessed.

"And you," he added. She glanced at him quizzically. Almost embarrassed, he lowered his head. "The night I met you, he led me to you."

Ginny couldn't find the appropriate response to that, and she too looked away. "Where does he hide?"

Harry grinned. "In the pipes."

"There's a story there, isn't there?"

He winked. "Oh, there's a story everywhere." Suddenly all business, he glanced around for a clock. "Speaking of which…"

Ginny couldn't help herself. "I could help you know."

Harry grinned sympathetically. "Not to be rude, but no, you couldn't."

Her smile fell. "You think I'm dumb, don't you?"

"No, no, I didn't-"

"Of course you did! Forgive me- I'm just a stupid, amnesiac girl who never had a filthy rich father, or a coddling mother, or rebel brother! It's only the world I live in- why should I are about it?"

"No- Ginny, please…"

"Why do you know everything?" she asked helplessly before sinking against the wall. He joined her silently.

"I really didn't mean it that way."

"Sure."

"You're not dumb, Ginny. You're… kinda like me, actually."

"Would you quit insulting me?" she snapped.

To her chagrin, he chuckled. "That's what I mean. I'm not smart. I just use my mind, and I speak it. Which, granted, is usually pretty dumb to do around here. I guess I just know how to survive."

"That's such a big deal here," she grumbled. "Seems to me the dead are a might bit happier."

He shrugged half-heartedly. "I don't have a filthy rich father. Don't even have a father. Or a mother, any more."

"Join the club," she offered bitterly.

"Ginny, what I meant before is… if I could, I'd let you… that is…" She decided that letting him finish would make even more of a fool of him that anything he could say. "It's nothing to do with you, it's just… well, you're not dead."

"What?"

"God, that sounded stupid… you know that Hogwarts has a pretty decent security system?"

"Except for when it comes to Muggle security cameras. Do you know how much more effective wizard defense systems could be if they combined technology and magic?"

"I know. It'd make things around here a bit more fun. 'Course, even Muggle cameras couldn't catch Peeves. There's the whole invisibility part, you know."

"Can't you just… I don't know, throw an invisibility cloak over yourself and be done with it?"

"How'd you know I had one of those?"

"You do?"

"Well, no." He admitted. "I know a guy who has one though." Harry shrugged. "He'll die someday."

"That's sick."

"Yeah, well, we can't all share a fairy tale fatherly-son relationship. Else the whole lot of us would be related… though, come to think about it, most of us are… I should really look into that, just in case…" He trailed off and had the sense to look away. "A cloak would be nice, but it's the ability to move through solid objects that's really handy."

"What are you having him do?"

"Well…" He hesitated.

"Let me guess- you can't tell me."

"I might as well, since you already know."

"How…?"

"Remember the dog?"

"I could forget?" she questioned dryly.

"I want to know what it's guarding."

"I thought you said you had a pretty good idea."

"I was being an arrogant twit. Surprised?"

She laughed. "No."

"Good." He sprang up. "Then you won't be surprised I have to mysteriously disappear in the night to go perform a necessary errand?"

Ginny started to speak before biting her lip. Harry helped her up. "You were going to ask if you could help."

"And you were going to say no."

Harry glanced away. "I'll be blunt. You'd probably get us killed."

Ginny didn't protest this time. She couldn't, come to think of it, since she knew his words to be true.

"I'll tell you what though," he continued. "I'll show you something later. I mean, you might not have to risk your life, but…"

"I'm in," she said before blushing. "I mean, what is it?"

"A surprise."

She grinned. Telling the truth was the best way to lie. "Fine. Then when?"

"You'll know."

"How?"

Harry grinned. "I have my ways." He started off, but her skeptical snort stopped him. "I named you, Ginny Weasly!" he called back in her direction.

Her face fell. "What do y…" She trailed off, recalling just how much of a coincidence it had been for the woman to pull her very own name from the list. Man of mystery indeed…

His grin haunted her as he slipped into the shadows. She realized she had so very many questions about him, about his work, about Hogwarts, all of which seemed to slip away the moment she saw him, replaced with endless other questions, and any answers were all but a million more questions.

She recalled Peeves warning. What was behind the mask?

_A person_, she thought before chiding herself at the simplicity. Then again, people were more or less rare in this society. Maybe that simple answer was enough for trust.

Or at least enough assurance for her to keep the mystery alive. Boredom didn't suit either of them well.

_Or_, she amended as she glanced down from an upper level, _all three of us._

Peeves, obviously taking his dear time on Harry's ordeal, was playing with a chandelier on the wall, attempting to steal one of its limbs. He was going at it the wrong way, Ginny could see.

She also saw another figure approaching from behind, a taller and grimmer shadow. She almost cried out to the poltergeist, stopping herself before she could incriminate herself as well.

But, like always, the only constant here was contradiction.

Professor McGonagall didn't whip out her wand in attempts to expel Peeves, nor did she acknowledge Peeves in any manner until she was directly perpendicular to him. And, when she did, it wasn't a threat, just a small whisper in an almost familiar manner.

In fact, Ginny swore she heard McGonagall mutter without looking, "Twist it counterclockwise."

And she swore she saw Peeves grin as he switched directions and yanked the chandelier until it came undone.

**

* * *

Catch the RENT or Firefly reference, anyone?  
**


	12. See How I Care

**Disclaimer: **Let's not go there.

**Notes: **THIS USED TO BE CALLED NONEXISTENT! But I really didn't like that title. Sorry for the inconvenience! So, Ginny gets a bit colorful in this chapter… but what would you else expect around Draco Malfoy?

_It was another dream, this time._

_Another dream, and another woman. Sprawled on the floor, Ginny could only gawk up at this tall, tall figure. It was only perspective, of course; she wasn't really that tall. She hadn't done anything mighty…_

_The woman shifted her gaze down. A smile slithered across her face._

"_Ginny Weasley."_

"_Just Ginny." Everyone knew her name before she told them. Why?_

_Because this was part of her subconscious. She was dreaming; she was just Ginny._

"_Not for long," the woman replied. She didn't look dangerous, not like the other woman, though, she hadn't been dangerous, per se, just... unknown._

_"No."_

_"No?"_

_"Not unknown. The past repeats itself."_

_Speaking of unknown... "You know what I'm thinking?"_

_"Thinking of him."_

_"Him?"_

_"Of course. He's your unknown."_

_Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Then what am I, his unknown?"  
_

"_His unexpected," the woman corrected. "But not who you will be."_

_Ginny couldn't imagine herself as much of anything, but she had to ask. "Who will I be?"_

_The woman smiled. Mysteriously, but gently._

"_Ginny Potter."_

_And then, a flash of green light, and all was gone. Her eyes had been green too._

xXx_  
_

"Just so you know, I still hate you," Draco Malfoy stated bluntly as he grabbed her cauldron from her and wrinkled his nose.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. She was used to Draco's nasty nonverbals. Even the occasional snide remark. The frankness, however, was new.

"Stop it, you're going to mess it up…"

"Are you kidding?" He sniffed the potion once more before carefully measuring out some powdery substance. Sadly, he was right: she didn't need him to mess it up.

"Well, what are you doing, then?"

"What you're supposed to be doing."

A draught of living death. Appropriate for Ginny. And, so appropriately, it was beyond her. "So… you're fixing my potion because you hate me?"

"I'm doing it because it smells," Draco sneered. "What did you put in this?"

"Um…" Ginny glanced at the label. "Fool's Weed."

"No kidding," he muttered, deftly remedying her potion. He didn't have to look while he cut, or poured, or stirred; yet he did. Anything not to look at her. He never met her eyes. Never.

For someone who hated her- hated the world- he seemed to come into contact with her often enough. Of course, it wasn't as if he controlled their schedules; it was merely coincidence they had been placed in every single class together.

Coincidence had other names too. Umbridge. Snape. Harry, but he didn't hate her. Of course, he didn't seem to particularly like her either. A week had passed, and still no word from him.

She'd never admit how disappointed she was every time she failed to find any message from him. Maybe she was dumb; maybe he'd given her his sign, and she'd just been too stupid to notice.

She had to face it: she was just another tool of his. To be used when needed; and he sure didn't need her. Who did?

"There." Draco slid back her cauldron as Slughorn began to stir from his slumber. "I didn't do anything for you."

"No, you did it because it smelled."

"I didn't do it at all," Draco muttered, as if that would erase his cheating. Not that Slughorn would care much. Not that Draco should care at all.

"Thanks."

"You have stupid hair."

"_Thanks_."

"And I still hate you."

"Miss Ginny!" Slughorn interrupted before she could retort. "Let's take a look at your potion, shall we?"

"Um, sure," Ginny replied uncomfortably. Definitely hers. The death part, that was. Of course, she ponder as Slughorn sniffed the contents, couldn't Draco be deadly too, in another way?

Slughorn carefully dropped a single leaf into her pot.

_I am a leaf on the wind… _Displaced, rejected from the tree, falling through space…

Burning up. Damn Draco. She could have failed without his help.

"Well," Slughorn stated simply. Ginny waited for the rest before realizing he had meant it literally. She had done well.

Since, of course, she had done nothing.

He scribbled something in his grade book. "You certainly tend to rise to the occasion, Miss Ginny."

"Occasion?"

"That was a test grade." Slughorn paid her little more attention as he moved on to the next student.

Beside her, Draco moaned. "Do you know how lucky you are?"

Lucky. Only if the luck was bad. "And do you know how much of an ass you are?"

Draco sniffed arrogantly and turned away. In doing so, he accidentally-on-purpose knocked over her bookbag, which tumbled to the floor with an epic _thud!_

"Ooops," Draco sneered. She simply rolled her eyes, leaning over to pick up the mess. She was surprised when he beat her to it.

"A 'D?' On the Charms impromptu? Are you serious?"

"Not everyone can get an E," she grumbled, snatching it from him. In Muggle schools, an E was below a D. So he was beneath her. Unworthy of attention.

_And from beneath you, it devours…_

"Who's Harry?"

"He's…" Ginny stopped herself, sputtering. How could…?

The bell rang, but it wouldn't save her. She glanced up to find Draco grinning at her reaction. "Is he that mouth-watering?" He leaned closer. "Breath-taking?"

"He's no one," she replied, off-balance. "I mean, how do you know about him?"

"He wrote you a love letter." Draco glanced at the parchment. "My dearly beloved, if you still care, our date has…"

Ginny snatched it away quickly. "Yes, well, I don't care!"

Draco smirked. "Redhead's in love."

"I am not in love with Harry," Ginny snapped. "I don't even know who Harry is. You probably put it in there as a trick." Yet, really, only one of those was true. Only, which one?

Draco cocked his head. "Why would I trick you?"

"Because you hate me," Ginny replied snidely.

"Because you hate me," he countered.

"See how I care," Ginny remarked, snatching the last piece of parchment and dashing for the door.

But Draco always had the last word; and, of course, that's all that it was when he muttered, "See how I care."

xXx

The perfect way to make sure students were always alone: make sure they never are. Surrounded by people and isolated from everyone. Even when they were allowed to talk, which granted, bordered on never, who was there to talk to? And what about?

Perhaps it was her being paranoid, but it seemed as if everyone avoided each other. Especially her. But, was she really paranoid if everyone really were out to get her?

Thus far, she hadn't succeeded in getting ten yards from Ron before he ran away. She tried not to care, though it bothered her all the same. Why run, when there was nowhere to go?

She wasn't terribly surprised Ron was being stupid though. He always had been. Whether he was afraid they'd punish him or she would, it didn't matter. They were all each other had. Or they were supposed to be. It's what Mum had wanted, right?

Recalling her mum's body, Ginny wondered if only Bill had gotten what Mum wanted. Of course, they were all as good as dead. Especially if she didn't start raising her grades. But that wasn't exactly her fault; that damn Irish kid who she copied off of wrote in unintelligible scribbles.

Too bad she didn't sit next to Draco. He'd get into some interesting trouble if she turned in an identical paper…

Too bad she didn't sit next to him? Granted, he was pretty much the only one who dared talk to her. That should tell her enough about her life.

Well, Draco wasn't quite the only one…

Decisively, Ginny burst into a set of fake coughs. _Real _fake coughs, not like Umbridge's fake real coughs. Her fit accelerated until, choking, she met the eye of one of the overseers. He rolled his eyes in a bored sort of matter before waving her out. She grabbed one of her books and made for the exit. And then, the girl's bathroom on the second floor. For no particular reason, of course. The other girls seemed to simply avoid it; therefore, Ginny hid there whenever she could. For security reasons, she locked the door to the stall, but it wasn't as if anything she'd find in there would be stopped by a solid object.

"Okay," she muttered as she removed a certain pointy hat from her sack. "The Age of Merlin. You were alive then, right?"

"Do I look like I was?" the hat asked pointedly.

"Yes."

"Perhaps you'd care to invest in some glasses. They'd go well with your scar."

"Shut up," Ginny muttered. "I mean, don't shut up, just, start shutting on about the Age of Merlin."

Sure, it was unconventional, but which teacher would forbid her from cheating off a talking hat? Besides, for all of his poetic quirks, he knew his history.

"Hello?"

Ginny almost called out to the voice, thinking it to be Myrtle. They'd moaned about their "deaths" together a few times. Ghosts like them should bond together, after all. Except… ghosts didn't generally have shadows.

Her own life was a shadow, but Ginny couldn't help that. The other girl's shadow didn't help her either.

"You don't have to come out, if you don't want to." The voice was almost ghostly, distant and all too close at the same time. "I never like leaving either."

"We never get to leave." Ginny surprised herself by talking. What was wrong with her? Obviously, a rhetorical question. "Isn't that why we're here?"

The girl's voice seemed to shrug. "I'm here collecting Wrackspurts."

Despite herself, Ginny giggled at the name.

"You shouldn't laugh; they seem to like you."

Ginny kicked the door to the stall open. "I'm here talking to a hat." She found herself staring at a girl so blonde, it appeared white in the darkness. At heart, of course, she seemed far from blonde; her deep eyes cast a certain intelligence that most people lacked, a kind of optimism about the world.

The most surprising part wasn't the tacky 3-D movie glasses she was wearing, or the colored-shoe-laces she was using as hair ties; it was her smile. That she was smiling at all.

"Yes," Ginny remarked to break the silence. "My best friend's a hat. We had a complicated childhood."

The girl lowered her glasses. "No wonder they like you."

"Does that mean I'm crazy?"

"Or does it mean that everyone else is?" the girl countered. She extended her hand. "I recognize you, don't I?"

"I think you inverted your verb a bit there." Still, Ginny shook the girl's hand, and the girl pulled her up and out of the stall. "I'm Ginny."

"That's your real name."

"Both of my names," Ginny answered, hardly surprised. "And yours is?"

She smiled. "Their records call me Evanna, but records don't talk. Everyone else calls me Loony. But you can call me Luna. Luna Lovegood."

"People don't generally call me anything," Ginny admitted.

"That's funny," Luna remarked. "You'd think they'd notice you more, if you were a favored pureblood…"

"…Wait, what?"

"You're a pureblood, aren't you? Why else would they let you keep your name?"

"They didn't," Ginny replied, mildly disturbed. "I mean, I am a pureblood, I think, but we were blood traitors. Ginny was just coincidentally the next name on the list." Coincidence's name, in this case, was Harry.

"Strange world we live in," Luna remarked. "I'm sorry, I just assumed- since Draco, and all the other purebloods kept their names…"

"Draco is his real name?" Ginny spouted incredulously. "Who'd name their son Draco?"

Luna shrugged. "Who knows who named him? I'm not sure his parents are still… with us. He still gets mail most of the time, but he wouldn't be here if he had anywhere else to be."

"What do you mean?"

"If you're in the Dark Lord's favor- or a filthy rich pureblood- you can usually cheat your way out of the schools through home education. That's what he did his first year. They made him repeat it, of course, to have the same education everyone else received. It's why he's in our grade."

"How do you know all this?"

Luna shrugged. "He talks to me sometimes."

Ginny sputtered. "He talks to you? But he's an arrogant pig!"

"I know. It's why he has to talk to someone who's not." Tired of discussing Draco, she shifted subjects. "You're in some of my classes, aren't you?"

"I suppose so."

Luna glanced at the loose papers, then at the now-sleeping hat. "You don't need to cheat off of him, if you don't want to."

"He's okay," Ginny defended, though as she studied the girl, she realized Luna hadn't meant it as an insult.

"I know," Luna answered simply, collecting the papers and sitting by the wall, gesturing to Ginny. "And I'm okay too."

Ginny glanced at the girl, who was already leafing through her papers. Crossing lines out. Creating new ones. "Is okay good?"

Luna looked up with a grin. "Okay is wonderful."

For the first time in a long while, Ginny matched her smile.

xXx

The hat stopped complaining about Ginny's all too frequent visits, though, if anything, he snoozed off more often than before. Myrtle, glowing in the attention she hardly got, moaned endlessly about history- not the kind that would help Ginny on her exams but that helped in a deeper sense. For some reason, Ginny found she could almost start smiling again, and Luna always made her smile. Talking was less important when everyone was listening.

Everyone, being the four of them. That was all there was in their world.

Everyone, and one more…

But he always listened, never talking until he was sure he was alone again, and they were done.

**

* * *

Two Firefly/Serenity quotes, a Buffy quote, and a Very Potter Musical in this chapter! Virtual cookie to anyone who points them out!**


	13. The Room of Hidden Things

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine. He married Ginny, remember?

**Notes: **Or did he? Remember this fic? I haven't abandoned it, I'm just going to be updating it whenever I feel inspired. Thanks to Pray for me. Pray, whose review inspired this update! Hope you enjoy!

_My dearly beloved,_

_If you still care, our date's in a week. That should give you enough time to do your hair, right? Don't worry, you'll be in bed by midnight. Of course, that's because you won't have left it to go relieve yourself in the women's lavatory on the fifth floor until then. Sleep during history if you have to. Don't be early._

_Harry_

_P.S. Isn't there anyone better to copy from than Blondie? Oh, right. No one's better than him._

"What are you laughing at, Red?" Draco snapped as she put away the note. He strained to look over her shoulder, seeing only her charms work. "Yeah, you're right, I'd laugh at those answers too."

Little did he know he was laughing at his own answers. She had to give him credit: for always being wrong, he was so often right. Not that Ginny could tell right from wrong in a world like this. Perhaps that gave her an advantage over everyone else. But if everything wrong was right in this society, they probably didn't frown too badly upon cheating.

It had been a week since Harry had slipped her that note- however he had managed that- and a week since she'd met Luna. Had neither of these happened, she probably wouldn't have known it had been a week, with all of the days blending together endlessly.

She almost would have rather not known. As it was, the clock taunted her more than Draco Malfoy did, ticking like a heartbeat: _Tick. Tick. Tick._

Would they ever stop? Ginny bit her lip. What if they never did? What if the ticks just kept going, a warning to a bomb that would never explode?

"Oi! Red!" Ginny's head throbbed as Draco's book slammed against it. "It's not bedtime, it's… well, actually, it is bed time, so wake up!"

Rubbing her head, she groaned. She almost asked why he hadn't waited for the overseers to rouse her, but the answer was obvious. "I hope you enjoyed hitting on me," she stated grimly.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, panicked at the implication. His eyes narrowed in realization. "Nice try, Red."

"Since when have you called me Red," she asked, "Blondie?"

For some reason, he grinned. Of course: most people named their play toys. And what better name for her than that of blood?

XxX

"You're early," Harry's voice came from the doorway.

"And you're in the women's lavatory," Ginny replied pointedly.

Harry shrugged. "I've been worse places." Even tonight, judging by his state of attire.

"How'd you slip me the note?" Ginny asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Please. You've got a masked man with infinite secrets in front of you, and you're asking what every pick pocket knows?"

"Well, what do you want me to ask?"

Smirking, Harry removed something from his coat and tossed it in front of her. "Ask me what this is."

It was some sort of book, its cover and binding made out of black leather. It looked like it had seen better days, although considering the days, Ginny doubted it. "What is it?"

"No idea," Harry answered.

"Well, then, why'd you want me to ask?"

"Because," Harry replied, "Peeves wants to know why it was worth him risking his, granted, nonexistent life against a three headed dog and a giant chess set to get this."

"The dog was guarding this?" Frowning, Ginny flipped through the pages. The blank pages.

"There's no invisible ink," Harry voiced. "Or any sort of concealing spell. There's just nothing written."

"Why would someone go to such lengths to hide an empty book?" Ginny wondered.

"Unless… they weren't worried about something they'd written," Harry pondered. "What if they were worried about what someone might write?"

Ginny flipped to the cover. _This Diary Belongs to: Tom Marvolo Riddle_. "Who's he?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "Who knows? He's probably not even a real person, or at least not anymore if he ever was." She noticed he'd removed a quill and some ink. He reached forward with the quill before hesitating. "No," he finally said. "It might alert someone."

"Right," Ginny said sarcastically. "It's okay to steal, but vandalizing just shatters your moral code."

"I haven't got a moral code," Harry grit.

"An immoral one, then," she corrected.

"Maybe," Harry sighed. She waited. "I've got orders."

"From who?" she scoffed. "You're an anarchist."

"You think I'm the only one?" His laughter was bitter. "Sorry. I'm no chosen one to save the world. Hell, I'm trying to destroy what's left of it."

"You don't mean that."

"Why not? Better to blow up the whole thing than salvage a meaningless inch."

"Then what are you doing?" Ginny demanded. "Shouldn't you be stealing something bigger than diaries?"

"If only," he scoffed. "But I'm just a jackal. I do the dirty work."

"Who do you work for?"

"An arrogant twit," Harry answered. "Thinks he knows everything." Eying the diary, he put away his quill decisively. "Well, we'll see what he makes of this."

"That's it?" Ginny asked. "You're just going to give it to him?"

"It's harder than you think. It's not like I can just waltz across the country and fly back, no questions asked. But you're right." He frowned. "I can't stay here much longer. I can't stand it."

"That makes two of us." She handed him the diary. "At least you've got me to spy on."

"Ha," he sounded. "What makes you think I do that?"

"Well, I can't imagine you'd rather watch Blondie." Ginny frowned. "Or maybe you would. He's a Pureblood, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he's a son of a-" Harry filled in with some vulgar words. "-alright."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "No kidding. You think so?"

"Yeah," he said decisively. "I do." He slipped the diary back in his coat. "We'll need to hide this somewhere." Glancing at his watch, he added, "And, it's much too early to go to bed yet, don't you think?"

"Yeah. _Early_."

Harry merely grinned, took her hand, and dragged her out of the lavatory.

XxX

"We're hiding it in a wall?"

"Shhh. Just close your eyes." Reluctantly, she complied. "Now start pacing and think 'I need somewhere to hide' three times."

"What, should I tap my ruby slippers together too?"

"Just do it," he growled.

When she opened her eyes, the wall was still there. She glanced at the opposite wall, but it merely displayed a tapestry of trolls failing to dance ballet.

Harry was frowning. "You didn't do it right. Try again."

She did. The wall was still there.

"That's odd…"

"Seriously. What, do you think the wall's psychic or something?"

"Need I remind you that your best friend is a hat?"

"Touché," Ginny pouted. She studied the wall, wondering if it was like the one at Platform 9 and three quarters.

Wait… wall? There hadn't been a wall there. There hadn't even been a King's Cross, not anymore. And yet, she could have sworn she'd walked through a wall there…

_Maybe I did,_ she thought. _After all, talking to Snape is like talking to a wall._

"Well, maybe I don't need somewhere to hide," Ginny voiced, growing impatient of Harry's careful inspection of the wall.

"No." He shook it off. "Whatever. Close your eyes."

"I am not doing it again."

"No, I am. So close them."

Grumbling, she closed them and listened to him pacing across the floor. What was it he feared her seeing? The vulnerability he had when he closed his eyes? Wasn't everyone closing their eyes here anyway?

His voice interrupted her train of thought. "You can open them now."

The wall had vanished, and she could hardly describe what was in its place. The sight seemed to shift around even as she was watching it, as if it was responding to unheard instructions.

"Where…?" Ginny began, but Harry was already whisking her inside. Wherever that was. Objects were scattered everywhere, in every kind of state imaginable. Textbooks, potions, diadems, skeletons…

"Looks like you're not in Kansas anymore," Harry voiced. "And I know, it's bigger on the inside than the outside."

"It doesn't even have an outside," Ginny scoffed. "What is it?"

"It's called the Room of Hidden Things."

"How original."

Harry frowned. "Really, it's a fantastic place. I tried living here once…" He trailed off. "But there are some things you can't hide from."

Ginny felt something crunch underneath her foot. "No offense, but it'd be a horrid place to live."

"Isn't everywhere?" Harry asked. "Besides, there's more to it. It's a part of a bigger place called the Room of Requirement, which takes the shape of whatever the person who stumbles upon it needs."

"So… you needed some place to hide?"

He shrugged it off, pulling out the diary. "Where do you think should we hide this?"

Ginny scanned the room before her eyes locked on the skeleton. "With a bodyguard, of course."

He followed her gaze. "That's morbid, you know that?"

Ginny grabbed the diary and pushed it into the rib cage. "It fits."

"Yeah, it does." Harry was frowned. "Do you think of death a lot?"

"It doesn't think much of me," she replied. "Why would it, when it's got the rest of the world?"

"I guess," he said.

"What's the supposed to mean?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "It's just… there's something off about you."

"Oh, and someone who hides his face behind a mask is perfectly normal?"

"It's not that!" He turned away. "It's just, the way you talk… it's like you're already dead. It's like the room didn't listen to you…" He paused. "Because the dead don't need anything."

"Stop it!" she fumed. To emphasize her point, she grabbed the nearest text book and hurled it at him. Unfortunately, he whirled around simultaneously, catching it neatly. "You know, I think I get why you lived here," she continued. "I think you never stopped. You're still hiding. I don't even know your real name!"

"I can't not hide!" he argued. "Anyway you put it, I'm someone I'm not." He fingered the skeleton idly. As if he too envied it. "I don't exist."

Ginny bit her lip. What hope did the rest of them have if the only man fighting for them wasn't real? What hope did any of them have? Even Voldemort was only as real as the pain his minions inflicted. None of them- Dad, George, Charlie, Mum, Bill- had ever met the man who'd brought about their demise, a man who was hardly a man at all. No one even said his name. Maybe that's all he was, a name that shouldn't have existed. Maybe no one was behind the curtain. Maybe he was just death itself.

"Then you're a little dead too," she said to Harry before walking away, leaving him in his hidden room of forgotten memories. It occurred to her that, maybe, he didn't wear the mask to hide from her; maybe he was hiding from himself.

"You wish," she heard as she shut the door.

_Wish… when was the last time one came true?_

One had to be careful what they wished for.

XxX

"Can you keep a secret?"

Luna peered up from her magazine. "Of course. But if you told me, it wouldn't be secret anymore, would it?"

"Do you think there are really terrorist groups out there?"

Luna's eyes flashed back to her magazine. "No." After surveying the surrounding area, she leaned in closer. "I know so. My father…" she trailed off. "He died fighting."

"He was a terrorist?"

"He published the final edition of _The Quibbler_ a day after the Revocation of the Freedom of Speech went into act," Luna explained. "And that was only because his publisher was either dyslexic or American and read the date wrong. Still, it's a nice way to remember him." She stared off into the distance, as if expecting to see his ghost. "He only meant to warn people hide their boots so the hortensnaps could nest in them."

"But you do think they exist," Ginny persisted.

"Of course they do," Luna replied without hesitation. "Why else would the bootlaces get tied together?"

"The terrorists, Luna."

"I know it's irritating, but they're actually quite nice if you..."

"Human resistance groups," Ginny clarified. "Not that hortysnort resistance isn't great, but I don't think tying Death Eaters' laces together would be terribly effective against the Killing Curse."

"Oh. Of course," Luna answered. "They're never mentioned in the newspapers, so they've got to exist, don't they?"

"I guess." Ginny frowned. "Do you think they're here, at Hogwarts?"

Luna studied her carefully. "You're not thinking of joining?"

"Just wondering if I already have," Ginny sighed. Luna raised her eyebrows, prodding for more. But Luna was right about secrets, and besides, how could she possibly tell a secret that even she didn't yet know? "You know, I might have tied my shoelaces wrong or something."

"You're quite the rebel," Luna agreed. Still, her light-hearted nature was always tainted by some inner understanding of the darkness that surrounded them. "You've heard of DA?"

Ginny's mind flashed back to the Room of Hidden Things, with Harry, and… no. The memory vanished as quickly as it had surfaced, replaced by a dull hospital bed and a nurse with green eyes. Justin. "I've heard of it."

"Most people have," Luna continued, "although no one seems to know what it stands for."

And yet, the group made it perfectly clear what they stood for. Kamikaze street accidents, failed assassinations, explosions. Violence. Just like Voldemort, only illegal.

_DA… _Again, the Room of Hidden Things came to mind. Ginny began to wonder if that was what it really was, her own mind. Textbooks, potions, diadems, skeletons… "Dumbledore's Army," she whispered.

"Dumbledore's dead," Luna pointed out.

But wasn't everyone worth fighting for? Harry had been right. There was something dead about her. Something that the world wouldn't be able to kill.

"I know he's dead," Ginny replied finally. "Doesn't mean he's done."

**

* * *

So… are shocked that I'm still alive after my long unannounced hiatus? (Or are you shocked that I'm not dead?... Okay, that was lame.)**


	14. A Game of Time

**Disclaimer: **Well, considering this is an alternate universe, maybe Harry Potter does belong to me.

**Notes: **Thank you so much for all of your reviews, I think they set a record! They certainly inspired this chapter, which hopefully moves the plot along. I know it's been slow, but things are starting to pick up.

_Dark. Dark. Dark._

Ginny carefully maneuvered through the jungle of blanketed lumps- more like corpses than bodies- as she counted the sleeping heads.

_Dark. Dark. Dark._

Identical blankets, identical robes, identical shadows. No one stood out. No one dared to. But some people were born to counteract darkness. Sometimes, courage came in the strangest of forms.

_Red._

Genetics. Ginny yanked the blanket off her brother and knelt beside him. "Ron," she hissed into his ear. He didn't stir. "Ronald Weasley."

Snorting, Ron rolled over, his hand feeling the air, as if for an alarm clock. Ginny rolled her eyes, resorting to the dirtiest of measures.

"Donuts!" she hissed.

"Food?" He jolted up, nearly tumbling off the cot. Ginny smirked at her brother's predictability. Ron's weary desperation disappeared when he noticed her beside him, his expression fading into one of terror. "Merlin's boxers…"

"They had boxers back then?" Ginny pondered lightly.

"They're going to kill us!"

"Seriously, Ron, even if Merlin did have boxers, I doubt they're coming to kill us."

"The overseers, they'll kill us both!" Ron flung himself down onto his cot, trying to hide under the covers. Ginny held the blanket back, eying Ron carefully. He'd hidden from her for long enough, but now she'd cornered him, and she was going to get answers, even if it ended with a pair of boxers- more likely the glove wearing kind- killing them both. After all, in hide and seek, the hiders never won; it was a game of time, seeing how much could pass before the seekers overtook the hiders. That was all life was, a game of time.

"Blankets don't stop curses," she told him, "and the monsters aren't under your bed."

"Well, they're beside my bed," Ron whimpered. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

"Me?" Ginny's anger flared as Ron crept back under the blanket. "You're the one who's left me alone! You won't even walk on the same side of the hallway as me, like I'm some sort of black cat!" Although, come to think of it, Ron probably was superstitious. She strained to think of which one of them had broken a mirror that could have brought upon these seven years of bad luck, called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"It's one of the conditions," came a mumble from under the blanket.

"Conditions for what?" Irritated, Ginny yanked the blanket off Ron, who squealed at the sudden vulnerability. "Conditions for what?" she repeated.

"Life."

Since she doubted he was suggesting they were polarized oppositely, she prodded him further. "Conditions for life?"

"You know, oxygen, water, food…"

"Everything's food with you!" Since he refused to look at her, she crawled to the other side of the cot. "What do you mean, it's a condition for life?"

"You were going to die." From his sleeplike position, Ron seemed helpless to the fact. Like he'd forgotten: they were born to die. "They wouldn't operate unless I agreed to some… conditions."

"Like?"

"That I would turn in any other traitors, that I would denounce my family and lifestyle," Ron listed glumly. "That I wouldn't try to talk to you." He sniffed hysterically. "And why would I? After what you did…"

Running for her life? Yeah, she was ashamed of that too. Ron had done a better job of that while standing still and handcuffed. And he was mad she hadn't obeyed Big Brother.

Obviously, he hadn't read _1984_. Not that she had, aside from in the strange dream world of hers; she'd learned to read from nutrition labels and cigarette butts.

Ron's sniffles reminded her where she was. He'd just admitted to saving her life. (She ignored the fact that he was crying over it now.) And yet… the demands were too mild to be a punishment. The Death Eaters would have made these demands regardless of whether Ginny had cooperated or not. So why had they let her live? She glanced at Ron, who didn't seem to notice the terrible inconsistency: she should not have been allowed to live.

The only was reasonable explanation was that they wanted her to live. And, of course, whatever they wanted, she did everything to resist. She glared at Ron. "Shouldn't you have asked me?"

Even Ron's laughter had turned bitter. "Yeah, you're right, I should have waited while you died and then asked your ghost if it wanted to be saved." He shook his head. "No wonder no one wants to be a hero these days."

She wondered which would have made him the hero: saving his sister's life through compliance or condemning her to death with his defiance? Either way ended the same. With death. He was right. No wonder there were no heroes. "Why'd you agree?" she wondered aloud.

There was a long pause before, "I didn't."

The blanket must have jumbled his response. She whipped it off once more. "You didn't agree?" This time, Ron didn't disagree. "What do you mean, you didn't agree?" She forced Ron to face her, earning her a squeak of fear that didn't suffice as an answer. "You were just going to let me die?"

"Isn't that what you wanted just a few seconds ago?" he asked, trembling. "Death, life, it's all the same to you. Like you're still in some coma, flirting between the two…" He rolled over. "It doesn't matter. They did it anyway."

"Why?" she demanded, her mind whirring. Ron wasn't the suicidal kind; he wouldn't have even considered taking death over a confined life. He prized life too much, even this kind of life. Call it a weakness. Or was that his only strength? "Why wouldn't you agree?" she repeated.

"Because I was scared." He spoke nonchalantly, as if it were common sense and not something to be ashamed of.

"Scared?" she scoffed. "What's there to be scared of? Signing a contract?" He wouldn't answer. She recalled the way he phrased it: _they did it anyway. _"Ron, what did they do?"

She crawled over to the other side of the cot again only to find silent tears rolling down his cheeks. "The last condition," he whispered. She reached for his hand, to reassure him, but he pushed her away. "They put a chip in my head, to record all conversations. So they could catch traitors. They were going to pull out my eye too, and replace it with a camera… but the boy before me died on the operating table 'cause they didn't… No Muggles in the operating room." Ron shook his head. "Can't trust Muggles. So no eye. No eye in team." He frowned as she stared at him, horrified. "You remember the monkeys? See no evil, hear no evil…" His eyes flickered up as he trailed off, jolting back into reality. Ginny struggled to decide whether he'd gone insane or the world had. "And that's why we're going to die. We'll all going to die, because of you!"

Somewhere in there, Ron's words became sobs. Life was his weakness after all. True to his word, she heard footsteps. She only hoped they were her own.

_Dark. Dark. Dark._

As always, the lumps in the blankets were despairingly similar. No one stood out. Except her.

_Empty._

She dove into the empty cot, probably just in time. Ron had taught her one thing, at least: the blanket could be a shield after all.

"Who're you talking to, boy?" a voice snarled, followed by Ron's whimpers as he was lifted out of bed. Without his safety blanket, he was helpless.

"My sister!" came Ron's whimpers. Ginny's heart skipped a beat. "She was right here, I swear! She ran that way! If you hurry, you'll catch her!"

_Damn Ron. Prizing life so much, he's not afraid to throw it away. Anything to save himself, even if it damns him just as much._

To her surprise, the overseer merely laughed. Bitterly. The only kind of laughter there was. "Right. And I suppose there's a bird that nests in there with her too?"

"B-but," Ron sputtered over the overseer's cackles. "She was here…"

A crack echoed across the room as the overseer slapped Ron. Ginny winced silently, but no one stirred. So neither did she.

"You think your sister's gonna come save you from this, boy?" Another crack. "Maybe you should call for her now! See if she comes! Oooh, look!" Ginny's heart pounded as the overseer's voice came dangerously close. "There she is!"

She didn't move. She dared them to destroy their own instrument. But the overseer's voice went on mockingly, "Boxers, and Muggles and… and flying monkeys!"

He was addressing a bedpost. Ron was too terrified to do anything but squeak, although come to think of it, that might have been a squeak of laughter. Perhaps it wasn't only bitter after all. Seeming to realize he was embarrassing himself more than Ron, the overseer backed off. "Next time, keep your mutterings in your head. But if you wanna converse with ghosts, I'm sure we can come to a satisfactory arrangement." Releasing Ron, the overseer surveyed the room, conducting one last check.

_Dark. Dark. Dark._

All filled with lumps. One per bed, no more, no less. And no monsters under the bed either. Satisfied, the overseer harrumphed as his footsteps disappeared.

Still, Ginny didn't move. She didn't believe in luck, but all the same, she didn't want to tempt it. It had been lucky enough Ron's chip had malfunctioned and only recorded his half of the conversation. Lucky? No. Remember? She didn't believe in luck. The overseer would have known if the chip had only been recording Ron's comments. But he hadn't. Therefore, nothing was wrong with the chip.

Something was wrong with her. The same thing, she realized, had happened with the Room of Hidden Things. It was as if these forces, whether magic or machine, hadn't recognized her existence.

Another thought occurred to her. Those who had operated on her certainly had enough time to insert a chip in her as well. Why else would they have saved her life, unless they had planned to take several more with it?

It stopped making sense after that. They had enough evidence to incriminate her, and Harry, and Luna, and Ron, and McGonagall even, for giving her the hat. Why didn't the Death Eaters destroy them all?

Unless they were waiting for her to incriminate more, significantly more important people. The only one mildly dangerous among them was Harry, and even he was behind on the times. He hadn't known the Death Eaters had resorted to using Muggle technology, as he had suggested. Therefore, he was of more use when he was revealing the plans of his organization. Who knew what he had left to reveal? She didn't even know his name!

And for once, she was glad. Then she wouldn't need to know who she'd betrayed.

Nowhere was safe. So she might as well come out now. She shed her safety blanket and crept out of bed. An engraving caught her eye, the only difference between each cot.

_Draco Malfoy_

If only the chip relayed visuals as well! Sleeping in his cot would have been enough to incriminate him as well. Or… would it? As surely as his absence had saved her, her presence had saved him. Damn. It would have almost been worth revealing herself to implicate him.

_Dark. Dark. Dark._

As she walked across the room, she scanned the cots, but the overseer had counted correctly. One body per bed. One empty bed. No Draco Malfoy. Only shadows.

It wasn't a surprise he'd be classified among them.

_Blonde._

His electrifying hair stood out among the rest of the nameless lumps as he entered the room, his face cold as always. He didn't seem worried about being caught; in fact, he walked with a haughty air, as if he owned the place. As if he was where he was supposed to be.

Her blood grew cold. He'd been placed in all of her classes. A coincidence, right?

But as Harry had proved, there were no coincidences. He hadn't been randomly placed in all of her classes; he'd been planted there. _She'd _been placed in his.

He was a spy.

XxX

Somehow, she made it back to her own cot and pulled the safety blanket over her head. Under it, the monsters had no jurisdiction. There, the only monster that existed was her.

And that's what she'd be. To them. If indeed they'd made her one; if indeed there was a chip inside her head. She'd test the theory later, but already she knew something horrible was in her mind. She only prayed it was something unnatural and not her own brain.

Let them think she was a ghost; she'd haunt them forever. For all they'd learned, neither she nor they could understand the mystery of Ginny Weasley. They knew her chip didn't record her own words. They didn't know why. Neither did she, but she held the advantage. While they'd likely attributed it to something technological, she knew it was more. A weapon.

From now on, she wouldn't incriminate anyone but herself. As soon as they realized this, they'd flock to her like the vultures they were, feasting in death. They couldn't know, then. She'd have to work fast, like the game of time it was.

In the meantime, as any obedient servant would, she'd incriminate one other person for them: Draco Malfoy.

And only then, after she tore off the safety blanket, after the vultures came to gnaw on something that was already dead, would she be done.

**

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I know it's shorter than usual, but I couldn't resist the semi-cliffhanger. Also, I'm considering changing the title (yet again) to Dead or Never Alive. The current title is a stylistic approach, but it's always been boring to me. So… comments? Thanks for all of your reviews!**


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